Resurrection
by ihearttony
Summary: Gibbs is reportedly killed while on assignment. Can Tony find out what really happened? Is the Lead Agent even dead? Tony doesn't think so. When DiNozzo gets in trouble, who will save him? Gibbs/Tony/Jackson-Father/Son themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: This story is 12 chapters long and complete. I'll post every other day (trying to post every day about did me in the last time). Forgive any plot holes, sometimes I think I wouldn't qualify to write a Scooby-Doo episode.**

**This takes place in Season 7, sometime after Flesh and Blood but before Patriot Down. Tried not to go OOC or AU, but I did let the characters grow and change a little. I hope in a good way.**

**My apologies to everyone who reviewed the end of my last story and I didn't get to reply—life got really crazy. I hope to do better this time! So let me know what you think :)**

**TH**

The beer bottles clinked as Tony sat them on the kitchen counter. "So, what are we having at Cafe Gibbs tonight? Steak? Burgers?" The NCIS Senior Field Agent looked around for signs of what was on the dinner menu.

The Lead Agent for the Major Crimes Response Team was removing something from the oven. "Meatloaf and mashed potatoes," he replied.

Tony shot an eyebrow up. "Comfort food. So what's up? Why the need for breaking out Grandma's cuisine?" he asked. The younger man was already getting out plates and setting the table. He had stayed there enough the layout was familiar and he never hesitated to be a good second-in-command, even if it was in the cooking department.

Gibbs chuckled as he found some glasses and took a seat at the table. "No wonder I haven't fired you yet. You decided something's going on based on a meatloaf?" the silver-haired agent asked.

DiNozzo grinned as he helped himself to a slab of what was now diagnostic evidence and a huge helping of mashed potatoes. Gibbs just shook his head at the other man. "Not _just_ that," Tony explained. "Add in the fact you invited me over for dinner on the spur of the moment on a school night. Plus, you've been even quieter than your normal functional mute self. The last clue was that mysterious call from the SecNav today you took in the conference room." He finished laying out his case and pointed at his friend and mentor with his fork. "Factor in the meatloaf, and obviously something significant is afoot." He added another grin for effect.

Gibbs gave his typical closed smile at his agent's fairly sound logic. Tony might not act like he was paying attention half the time, but few details escaped him. Now, those green eyes were scrutinizing him, waiting for an explanation. Gibbs sat his own fork down and folded his hands.

"I'm going out of town for a few weeks," the Lead Agent stated.

Tony stopped eating, fork raised in mid-air. "Why?" he asked. This was not a time for a lot of words.

Gibbs glanced down, looked back up and met the gaze. "The SecNav has asked me to investigate something for him. It's classified, so I can't really explain much about the assignment. Hopefully, I can resolve the matter fairly quickly and be back in about two weeks," he detailed.

Tony chewed and thought for a minute. "Is it dangerous?" he inquired soberly.

Gibbs shook his head and smiled again, wondering for the millionth time why DiNozzo cared so much, since most of the agents he had ever worked with considered him a grade A bastard. There weren't many people in his life he could count as close friends, and Tony had made it onto that short list. The field agent was actually much more than a friend; after ten years he had become more like a surrogate son. That was why the ex-marine had taken the opportunity to tell Tony about the new mission in a more private setting. He knew the younger man would worry. "Nah," Gibbs answered off-handedly. "It isn't anything I shouldn't be able to handle. Mostly intelligence stuff."

"Can you tell me where you're going?" Tony followed up curiously.

Gibbs paused a moment. "Russia," he finally said.

"Russia?" Tony repeated, surprise evident in his voice. "Are you gonna have back-up?" The field agent was growing more concerned about the unusual situation.

Gibbs shook his head again. "That's all I can tell you, Tony. You'll have the team until I get back," he said, ending the discussion. "I'm sure there'll be lots of stories about campfires and DiNozzo's rules when I return."

Tony smiled, knowing his boss had faith in him to lead the team in his absence, but still worried about the unknown assignment. Something in his gut churned darkly. "When are you leaving?" DiNozzo asked.

"Tomorrow," the blue-eyed man replied, picking up the dishes. He'd lost his appetite. "You can drive me to the airport in the morning."

Tony helped clean up, the whole time wondering what this "secret mission" was really all about. Even though Gibbs was playing it down as nothing serious, DiNozzo had a strange sense of foreboding about the entire scenario.

Later that evening, as they sat in Gibb's basement, the older man sanding a project while Tony nursed a beer and watched him, the field agent asked, "Does this have anything to do with the Russian prostitute we found murdered a few weeks ago?" He observed quietly for the Lead Agent's reaction.

_Of course it does, _the silver-haired man thought. It turned out the dead prostitute was the daughter of one of Gibb's and the SecNav's old friends; he had recognized her immediately because of the girl's striking resemblance to the beautiful Russian spy who passed away several years ago. The surprise has been finding out the SecNav was the girl's father. Gibb's wanted to discover as much as possible about the relationship between Secretary of the Navy Philip Davenport and the dead girl's mother. Something about the situation was "hinky" as Abby would say. But he had decided not to tell the team any details yet; he would wait until he returned with more information.

So in response to Tony's inquiry, Gibbs only smiled, a small grin that revealed nothing. "Don't ask too many questions, DiNozzo," he replied, never looking up or slowing his sanding.

Tony took a swig of his beer while his gut continued to churn.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"When is Gibbs coming back?" McGee asked, glancing around to make sure Tony wasn't anywhere nearby.

"Tomorrow," Ziva answered. "Why, Tim, are you tired of being Tony's Senior Field Agent?"

"Oh, come on, Ziva," he replied. "You can't tell me you aren't ready for the boss to come back, too. I mean, it's not like Tony hasn't done his job or anything, but with the campfires, looking over my shoulder, and smacking me on the back of the head, I just don't know how much more I can take."

Ziva laughed, "Well, Tony does have an unconventional style, but we have closed three cases in two weeks even if he has driven us crazy in the process. I hate to admit it, but he has been a pretty good Lead Agent."

"Can I have that in writing?" the smooth voice asked, as Tony grinned down at her from the top of the cubicle. He was smiling broadly.

Ziva groaned, while Tim smiled despite himself. "You need to stop doing that!" the former Mossad agent said, throwing a paper wad at his head. Tony ducked and it hit a passing secretary who glanced around in irritation.

Tony sat down at his desk. The two weeks had gone fairly well, with no major issues and a lot of work completed. He wouldn't admit it to the other two agents, but he, too, was ready for ole blue eyes to come back. There hadn't been one word from the Lead Agent, and Tony's gut had worked non-stop. At night, he'd been reviewing the murder of the Russian prostitute and her marine client. There were few leads and the case had gone cold fast, but Tony couldn't shake the belief that the murder had something to do with Gibb's current absence.

Abby had discovered the name of the young woman. _Katerina Sokolov._ The girl had been in the US a few months, probably as part of the human sex trade. There was little to no information on her during the short time she had been in the United States, and requests to Russian officials regarding her background were met with, "We'll let you know." The marine who was found shot along side her was well known to frequent prostitutes, but there was no indication the murders had been linked to him. It appeared to be a case of "wrong place, wrong time."

Tony had returned to Katerina's seedy apartment building on several occasions, but failed to get anyone to provide him with any substantial leads. The federal agent had grown increasingly frustrated at his lack of progress. He pulled up Katerina's picture again; long blonde hair, dark blue eyes, porcelain skin. She had been beautiful, if a little weathered, for her 25 years of age. _What did Gibbs find out about you?_ the agent mused. _That caused the SecNav to send him running off to Russia?_

His reverie was broken by a phone call from Director Vance. "Tony, I need to see you in my office immediately," Vance said curtly. The line went dead.

_Strange, _Tony thought, as he headed up the stairs. He always felt like he was going to the principal's office whenever Vance called. McGee and Ziva glanced at each other across the bullpen, curious about the summons.

"Trouble?" McGee whispered.

"I do not know," Ziva shrugged back quietly.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Director Vance had gone over it with him several times. Tony looked at images of the plane crash playing on the plasma screen; the crash site showed total devastation. No one could have walked away from the twisted, burning scraps of metal that littered the Russian countryside. Once Vance had gotten past the words, "There were no survivors," Tony had blanked out, heard nothing, felt nothing. Just stared at the screen, trying to make sense out of what Vance was telling him. Nothing else the Director said registered after that, not until he felt the man's hand on his shoulder shaking him, offering him a glass of water, telling him…what? That it was ok? That everything was going to be alright? Tony felt his throat constrict, his head pound.

Gibbs had been due back in DC the following morning and now he was dead. From that moment Tony knew nothing would be alright again.

Tony stared at Vance and asked, "Where's the proof? I won't believe it until someone proves it to me." His hands clenched into fists and his emerald eyes blazed. _This can't be happening, _he thought. He was asleep somewhere and having a nightmare; he would wake up soon and everything would be back to normal.

Vance, for all his faults, showed patience with the overwhelmed agent. "The proof is on the screen, Tony," he said softly. He knew that Tony and the Lead Agent were close; he watched the younger man grip the arms of the chair like he was hanging on to a life raft. "Gibbs was on that plane, and it was destroyed on impact; the SecNav has confirmed it. I know this is hard…."

"You don't know anything!" Tony yelled as he rose to his feet, reality slipping into his numb mind. "You don't know anything," he repeated more quietly, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to calm down.

Vance took him by the arm and gazed steadily into his burning eyes, "The team needs you now, Tony. I know how close you were to Gibbs, and this is going to be difficult for you. But you have to hold it together for them. You are their team leader now." Vance refused to look away from the green eyes and pained expression. "You can do this, DiNozzo. We've all lost people we care about; you can do this."

_I don't know if I can,_ Tony thought silently, fighting back the urge to run from the room.

"Let me…" Tony cleared his throat when his normally strong voice cracked. "Let me tell them." The Director nodded, understanding the request.

The rest of the day was a blur.

Vance stood by solemnly as Tony informed the rest of the team. Ducky grabbed the edge of the desk and then sat down heavily, his eyes going watery. Abby burst into tears and hung on to McGee, who gazed on in shocked silence, unable to speak. Ziva did not cry, but her face held such sorrow that Tony wanted to wrap the petite agent in his arms to keep her from falling down. Instead, he just stood there at Vance's elbow trying to contain his own crushing grief, wondering when the four horses of the apocalypse would come riding through, since obviously the world was coming to an end.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The world didn't end. Vance told them all to go home and take the week off while funeral arrangements were made. Tony sat at his desk staring blankly. Was Gibbs really dead? It didn't feel like he was dead. _I would know, _he thought. Abruptly, the agent stood.

"I'm going to Stillwater," he told his teammates, who were all gathered in the bullpen trying to wrap their minds around the sudden loss and provide each other with what little support they could. "I need to tell Jack in person."

Ziva rose from her seat, "I will go with you," she said.

"No," Tony directed firmly, shaking his head. "I…," he paused. "I'd really like to go alone," he explained, looking down at her and hoping she would understand.

Seeing the haunted look in his eyes, she smiled sadly. "Ok, Tony," she agreed. "But call me when you get there. Promise?"

"Promise," he responded, not knowing what else to add. With another glance at his boss' empty desk, the former Senior Field Agent walked out the door. Ziva watched his departing back, knowing that no matter how encompassing their grief, Tony was in a very dark place all his own.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

By the time Tony arrived in Stillwater, it was getting late. Standing in front of the quaint store, the NCIS agent steeled himself for what was to come. Walking inside, the elderly Gibbs looked up and smiled, "Tony! What a nice surprise! Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Is Leroy with you?" His blue eyes gazed with their usual spark, looking behind Tony to see if his son was coming through the door.

Taking off his dark sunglasses, Tony once again ran a hand through his hair. _Damn. I don't want to do this"_ he thought nervously. He shifted uncomfortably and shook his head.

"No, Jack, Gibbs isn't with me. Why don't we go over here and sit down," he indicated the small table.

Jackson Gibbs immediately knew something was wrong. Stepping from behind the counter, he met Tony's eyes and asked softly, "What's happened?"

The younger man took a deep breath and plunged in. It was bad enough informing strangers when their loved ones unexpectedly passed; this was beyond horrible. "Gibbs went to Russia on a special assignment for the Secretary of the Navy. He was due back tomorrow. The plane he was on," Tony stopped and closed his eyes. When they reopened he couldn't hide the watery tears that threatened to fall. "The plane he was on crashed; according to the Navy…." Tony hesitated again. Saying the words made it more real. Finally, he added softly, "There were no survivors." Tony waited for his information to register.

The older man teetered a little, reaching out to the back of a chair for support. Slowly he sank down into the seat. "Are you telling me that Leroy is dead?" Jackson asked, looking up at DiNozzo, his wrinkled blue eyes filling with tears of his own.

Tony thought he might choke on the thick wave of emotion rising in his throat. "Yes, that's what I'm telling you," he whispered, taking a seat across from the older man. They both sat there, saying nothing, as large, silent tears fell from Jackson's eyes. He wasn't a man prone to crying, but he seemed incapable of stopping the action right now.

Eventually, Tony stirred. "Why don't you let me help you close up and I'll drive you home," he said, unsure of what else to do.

"Yes, yes," Jackson agreed in a detached way, patting the younger man on the hand. "Thank you, Tony."

Jackson insisted the agent spend the night at his house. The older man seemed to pull himself together, even though the distant, far-away expression never left him. "I always figured Leroy would get himself killed eventually. I just thought it would be at the end of a gun, not in some plane crash a world away."

"I know," Tony agreed miserably. He met the blue eyes so like the ones of his mentor. "It doesn't really feel like he's gone."

Jackson smiled in understanding, noticing the sorrowful expression on the man's face. He had been able to tell from the beginning there was a special friendship between Tony and his son, he just hadn't been able to exactly figure it out. Observing the hollow look of the young man in his living room, Jackson knew he had been right.

"How long did you work with Leroy?" Jackson asked.

"Around ten years," Tony replied, sitting down on the couch. "He…" Tony started, but didn't know if he could finish. "He was one of my best friends…..more than that," the agent stated painfully, not meeting the father's gaze. There weren't words to express what Gibbs had been to him.

Jackson's smile was filled with warmth and pride, "There was a time I wondered if that boy would ever get his own head on straight. It's nice to see he was able to do that and more." The old man sat beside him, "Did he ever tell you about when he was being picked on by the Smith boy down the street?" Tony shook his head no. "He was about eight years old…."

DiNozzo listened to stories about his boss growing up until late into the night. It seemed to help Jackson to talk about his son, and Tony enjoyed listening. Finally, Jack herded an exhausted Tony into a bedroom and told him to make himself at home. Before closing the door, the elder Gibbs looked around and sighed, "This was Leroy's room. Not much about it has changed." He gave the same sad smile and shut the door.

Tony walked around the room, looking at the possessions which revealed Gibb's former life. Boxing gloves. A BB gun. School pictures of a skinny young kid with ice blue eyes and a cocky grin. Four football trophies that proclaimed, "Stillwater Player of the Year." Tony touched the nameplates. Four years in a row. Not a surprise at all.

Feeling strangely disconnected, Tony sat on the edge of the bed. He honestly didn't know what to do. There was no way he could sleep, despite his bone-weary fatigue. For the first time in years, he felt like a boat without a rudder, not knowing what direction to take. Staring around the bedroom of the man he had come to rely on for that direction, he felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. Tony leaned back on the bed and, for the first time in many years, allowed himself to cry.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The funeral, or he guessed rather memorial service, since they were told the body had been destroyed, took place one week later. Tony sat between Jackson and Ziva, listening to colleagues extol the virtues of the man he still wasn't sure was actually dead.

Tony had mentioned it to the team, that maybe since there was no body that Gibbs wasn't really on the plane in the first place. He had more or less been met with sympathetic stares indicating he was in denial. Rather than be told he was crazy, Tony let the topic drop. But deep in his gut, no matter how crazy it seemed, he still wasn't convinced.

Vance tried to get him to speak at the memorial, but Tony refused. His friendship with Gibbs was a private matter, and he didn't need to display it for the world. Instead, Ducky, Jackson, and Fornell had given heartfelt eulogies filled with both laughter and tears. After the service was over, Tony felt deflated, and he wanted to escape from the church and go back to his apartment so he could get out of the constricting suit and tie, have a drink, try to untangle his thoughts. Instead, he was drug back to Gibb's house for dinner, where everyone continued to talk and share stories about the gruff marine. Tony smiled, drank some beer, tried to act normal. Whenever the noise became too much, or someone mentioned a memory that was particularly painful, Tony would somehow find Jackson Gibbs standing at his side, the warm hand on his back, providing a comforting presence. DiNozzo understood more every day how this older man had been the driving force behind the crusty NCIS agent he admired so much.

Jackson was staying at Gibb's house for the next few days to get everything in order. Before DiNozzo finally left to go home, the elderly man stopped the agent by the door. "Tony, there's a meeting tomorrow you need to go to with me," he explained.

"Sure, Jack," Tony agreed, ready to help him with anything he could do. "What kind of meeting?"

"It's with an attorney. They're reading Leroy's will, and I'd like you to take me," Jackson requested somberly.

Tony smiled. He liked that Jackson was letting him help. Truth be known, being with the older man made him feel connected to his boss. "Sure. I'll come over around 8:00," the agent replied.

The next morning went nothing like Tony expected. Gibbs had left the Senior Field Agent everything he owned; the house, the car, even the sawdust. Tony tried to protest. "This should go to you," he told Jack, looking back and forth between the old man and the attorney. "I'm not even family."

Jack put a hand on DiNozzo's knee. "Tony, you were more family to him the last ten years than I was. Besides, I already got a house and a car. What would I need with two?" his eyes twinkled as he explained. "I feel good knowing Leroy's things will be with someone who cared about him. So it's right they go to you."

Tony had no idea what to say. The last few weeks had left him in a daze; this was the final blow. He always wanted to prove to everyone else that Gibbs liked him best; had spent most of the last decade seeking the man's approval. And here it was, in black and white. It should have made him happy to know that in the end Gibbs cared about him even more than he ever guessed. But the moment left him feeling more bereft and alone than he ever thought possible. How could he ever fill the void that Gibb's death had left in his life?

Jackson thought Tony would be pleased, but instead the younger man appeared ready to throw up. "It's ok, Tony," Jack said comfortingly. "It's going to be ok."

Tony wished he believed him.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Abby and McGee went out to dinner; neither wanting to be alone. After picking at their food for a while, they decided to go for a drive. "Do you know what I remember most about him?" Abby asked, her eyes red with tears from continual crying. She sniffled into a handkerchief.

"Regular Caf-Pow deliveries?" McGee answered, trying to help her feel better.

"Well, yeah," she smiled at the sweet memory. "No, the way he always knew what everyone needed most. The way he knew if I needed a hug, or Ziva needed a smile. He always knew when you needed to hear a "good job." And what about the head slaps? Tony would've never survived without the head slaps."

"How do you think Tony's doing? " McGee asked. "He hasn't been looking so good."

Deciding to check on their friend, Abby dialed his number. "Straight to voice-mail," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe we should go over and see him in person. He looked really out of it at the funeral yesterday." They drove by his apartment, but no one was home.

"Do you think he's gone out to get a drink or something to eat?" Abby asked. She was concerned; Tony never turned his phone off unless something was wrong.

McGee was lost in thought. "Maybe he's at Gibb's house," he suggested.

"Let's go," Abby decided quickly. She had a sense Tony needed them.

DiNozzo's car was parked outside the neat shaker cottage, but the only light was the one shining from the window in the basement.

"Tony," McGee called out, opening the door. It was unlocked as always. "Tony, it's me and Abby."

There was no answer. The two friends exchanged looks and made their way to the basement. "Tony?" Abby called out, seeing a figure sitting on the floor against the wall. "Tony, is that you? Are you ok?"

The man in the floor looked up. His cloudy eyes lit up at the sight of them, "Hey, Abs! McGoo! Nice to see you here! Did you come by for a drink?"

Tony was holding a nearly empty bottle of bourbon. He finished off the glass in his hand, maneuvering himself to stand. "Let me…. find….. some more gl..glasses," the Senior Field Agent slurred thickly, stumbling into the counter and knocking tools and supplies into the floor.

"Oops, Gibbs'll kill me for that! Oh, wait a minute! No he won't, because the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs is dead!" Tony shouted. Abby glanced at McGee, both worried and appalled.

"Dead as a doornail, pushing up daisies, kicked the bucket," he listed, swaying over to the staircase. "Least, that's what you guys think. My old gut here, it says different." He poured more bourbon in his glass. "But, nobody wants to…..to talk 'bout that." DiNozzo grabbed the railing as he teetered to the side.

"Tony, I think you've had enough," McGee stated firmly, reaching for the bottle.

Tony deftly maneuvered the bottle out of Tim's reach. "Oh, no, McTeetotaller. I'm just getting started!" he was yelling again while he refilled the glass. "This is the good stuff, my friend. Saved for a rainy day. Or maybe just a shitty day. Is it raining?" he asked. "Doesn't matter, cause it sure is shitty." Tony raised his glass and then took another gulp. Trying to head back to the other side of the room, he tangled his feet and nearly tripped.

"Gotta watch that step, McGoo, it's a doozy," he gripped the counter and worked his way over to lean on it.

"Come on, Tony, I think maybe you ought to go on to bed," Abby suggested. She was really worried about the agent's condition.

"No!" Tony yelled and slammed his hand down, knocking a box of nails into the floor. "No, Abby!" The bottle of bourbon slipped from his hand and shattered at his feet. Tony looked at her angrily.

"How could he do it, Abby? He knew what he was doing was dangerous, but he just kept it all a secret like usual. Classified he said. Need to know," Tony was shaking with emotion. He lifted his face toward her, green eyes burning with alcohol and anger. "Well, when did we need to _know_ anything? When did Gibbs tell us a damn thing before he had to? He shouldn't have gone without backup! He shouldn't have gone at all!" Tony emphasized his point by raising his half-filled glass and flinging it across the room where it hit the wall and shattered to the floor.

Tony was breathing heavily now, all the anger and frustration from the last week scorching through him along with the bottle of alcohol. Abby and McGee were barely breathing; neither had seen Tony in such a complete and total rage before.

A loud thump and something breaking upstairs brought them all out of the silence.

"What was that?" Abby asked fearfully.

Tony peered owlishly up the stairs, trying to figure out what could have made the noise.

McGee pulled out his Sig. "I'll check it out," he said, a little nervously.

"I'll go with you," Tony slurred, fumbling on the counter for something to use as a weapon.

"No, Tony, stay with me," Abby insisted, grabbing his arm. "I'm scared." She didn't want to send a drunk Tony upstairs to face unknown intruders. Tony hesitated, his inebriated brain not exactly sure what to do. Before Tony could make a decision, McGee quietly ascended the staircase and eased his way out of the basement.

After a few minutes of waiting, Tony had enough. "Gotta go up, Abs. Here, use this if you need it," he picked up a hammer, nearly tumbling over as he bent to retrieve the tool. Abby wrapped herself around his neck.

"Tony, please," she begged.

"Sorry, Abs, can't let Probie do all the work," he muttered, gently tugging himself loose. He placed a steadying hand on the wall and slowly worked his way up the stairs, swaying after every two or three steps.

"Darn you, Tony," Abby muttered. She slid up beside him, placing her arm around his waist. He looked down at her with foggy eyes as they moved into the hallway.

"Thanks, Abby," he replied a little loudly.

"Shhh," she whispered.

"Hey!" McGee shouted. "Stop! Federal Agent….I said stop!" There was a loud crash and thud. A dark-hooded figure rushed down the hall, straight for Abby and Tony. Seeing them, the man stopped. Abby noticed a glint of silver shine in the moonlight from the window.

"Oh my God, Tony, he has a gun!" she cried.

The agent gazed up through his intoxicated haze and saw the man lift his weapon. Standing in the middle of the hall, they had nowhere to go. Abby and Tony were as good as dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: The aftermath surrounding Gibb's death continues, as the mystery about what happened to him deepens. Things hit the fan in Ch. 3. A lot more angst, anguish, and whumping to go!**

**Thanks for all the awesome reviews and the story alerts! Getting reviews is like a puppy getting treats-I eat them up! **

**TH**

The hooded man pointed his weapon at the defenseless pair. Even intoxicated, Tony moved in front of Abby to try and shield her. The shot cracked, echoing deafeningly in the small space. Abby screamed and buried her face in Tony's arm as he covered her head. But the protective action was unnecessary; the shot went wild, embedding in the ceiling when McGee, shouting gutturally, emerged from the master bedroom, running madly at the intruder and shoving him into the wall. The two fell to the floor, arms and legs entwined.

The burglar heaved himself to his feet, and as McGee tried to stand landed a punch to the young man's jaw. The junior agent's head jerked back and he once again hit the floor. Turning quickly, the trespasser tore down the hallway toward Abby and Tony. Without slowing, he barreled over the two; DiNozzo, already off-balance, toppled on top of the young Goth. The man's hood fell off, revealing a bald, beefy head. Unfortunately, by the time they pulled themselves apart, the assailant was out the door and gone, providing no chance of catching him.

"Tim!" Abby ran to McGee's side, leaving Tony to try and get up on his own. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" She touched the expanding bump on her friend's head and he flinched. "That was so brave. You saved us!"

Tony staggered over to the wall. "It's all good, Abby. I'm ok," he explained breathlessly, even though she hadn't asked.

Abby glared at her inebriated friend. "What is going on here? Who was that guy?" she demanded.

McGee rubbed his head. "It looked like he was trying to rob the place. He had a bunch of stuff torn up in the bedroom. When I came in he jumped me and hit me on the head. Maybe he heard about," Tim caught himself and paused, "you know, that the house was …unoccupied." McGee cleared his throat and stared at his feet, not knowing what else to say.

Tony's face dropped. "Yeah," he agreed solemnly. There it was again. Yet another reminder that Gibbs was gone.

"Should we call the police?" Abby asked nervously.

McGee gave Tony a once-over. DiNozzo's eyes were at half-mast; he looked ready to hit the ground at any minute. He didn't think Tony was in any shape to help with a police report. "Nah, I don't think the guy took anything. He just made a mess."

_A mess; that's what everything is right now, a complete and total mess, _Tony decided."You're right Abby, I should go to bed." He left his perch on the wall and teetered dangerously.

"Good idea, big guy," she said, smiling sadly at him, no longer angry when she saw the return of his despair. She was still a little mad at him for getting so drunk. But since he wouldn't talk to anyone about how he was feeling, she guessed it was the only way he could deal with his emotions over Gibb's passing. "Let's go." Abby grabbed him under the arm and headed toward Gibb's bedroom.

"No, not there," he managed, when he noticed her direction. "Upstairs. Spare room." He shrugged sheepishly. Sleeping in Gibb's room would have been too much for him tonight.

"Sure, Tony, no problem," she nodded. McGee took his other arm and they helped DiNozzo to the other bedroom.

Lying down on top of the blankets, everything tilted and spun sickeningly. He considered going to the bathroom to throw up, but that would take too much effort. It was better to just lay there with his eyes closed and wait for the vertigo to pass. If he puked, he'd just do it in the floor; he didn't care anymore. It wasn't like Gibbs was there to get mad at him for ruining the varnish.

Tony mentally head slapped himself for the insensitivity. He really needed to pull himself together, but first he had to sleep. The effects of the bourbon were more than he could handle; he couldn't imagine how Gibbs managed to drink the stuff on a regular basis. Then again, Gibbs probably didn't finish off a bottle in a couple of hours, either.

Abby looked down at the rumpled sight. Tony's hair was sticking out in every direction and even though he still wore a dress shirt and slacks, the clothes were wrinkled and untucked. He hadn't shaved in a few days; light stubble grew over his jawline. He looked every bit a drunken sot. The agent appeared to have lost several pounds, and now that she thought about it, Abby couldn't remember the last time she had seen him eat anything. The shadows under his eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. At the moment he appeared very young and vulnerable.

Twisting her mouth and shaking her head, Abby made an executive decision. "We're spending the night McGee. Tony might need us and we have to make sure that burglar doesn't come back and cause any trouble," she told the junior agent. "You go find some extra blankets while I get Tony into bed." McGee raised an eyebrow; Abby punched him on the arm. "You know what I mean," she added.

Tim leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "You're a good friend, Abby Sciuto," he said. "See you in a little bit."

Abby sighed and started removing Tony's shoes. Once that was done she decided to enlist some help. "Come on, Tony. Get undressed and under the covers," she encouraged, tugging on his arm. Tony groaned and tried to pull away.

"Not now, Abby. I'm tired," he slurred, rolling over.

"Now, Tony, or I'll strip you myself and I'll have McGee help," she threatened.

Tony opened a bleary eye, "You'd do that?" he asked.

She crossed her arms and stared at him. _She'd do that._ Tony tried to get undressed. After a few minutes of using his limited fine motor skills to fumble with buttons and buckles, he got down to boxers and a t-shirt then crawled under the blankets; Abby lay down beside him. He wrapped his long arms around her, enjoying the comfort of her presence. Abby always made him feel better, even at the worst of times. He sighed when he felt her warm tears on his hands. It was selfish of him to think he was the only one suffering; Abby had loved Gibbs, too. "It's ok, Abs," he said. "We'll get through it."

Her soft sobs broke his heart; he kissed her dark hair. "I went with Jack to hear Gibb's will read today. The old bastard left me this house," Tony said softly, finally unburdening himself. "I don't know why he did that, Abby."

Through her tears, Abby took a deep breath. "He loved you like a son, Tony. He wanted you to know that. It was his way to tell you." Covering his hand with her own, she said, "He'll always be with us, Tony. We'll never let him go."

Tony closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him. He had dealt with death before; the images of his mother, Paula, Kate, and Jenny running through his mind. Tony was in no state to deal with those ghosts tonight. He knew, no matter how hard you held on to the memories, death meant the people no longer existed where he needed them, in the land of the living. They were really, truly gone.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The next morning, Tony awoke to a very bright sun streaming through the windows, burning his sensitive retinas. His head pounded like he had been run over by a marching band. With a moan, he pried himself out of bed and into the shower. Slipping on a pair of old jeans from the pile he had left in the house over the years, he made his way downstairs. He found McGee in the kitchen brewing coffee; Abby was asleep on the couch. DiNozzo paused and pulled an afghan around the Goth's shoulders, gently moving a ponytail behind her ear.

"So how are you feeling?" McGee asked the worn looking Senior Field Agent as he walked into the kitchen.

"Quieter, McGee, you must speak much, much quieter," a hung-over Tony instructed, staring gratefully at the steaming cup the younger man placed before him.

"That was quite a display last night. I thought for a minute you were going to tear the whole house apart," McGee paused. "You might have, too, if it hadn't been for our visitor."

Tony sat the coffee cup down and made eye contact with the other agent. He noted the goose-egg McGee was sporting on his forehead. So far, he wasn't doing a very good job of taking care of the team. "I need to apologize for that, Tim. I…let myself get out of hand. It won't happen again," he stated. "Vance asked me to see him when we go back on Monday. I'm pretty sure he'll make me permanent team leader. I need you to respect that, McGee, and I don't know if you can with the way I behaved last night."

McGee considered for a moment, realizing the admission must be hard for the proud man. "Tony, without Gibbs things are never going to be the same for any of us again. We're all dealing with it the best way we can. I won't hold last night against you."

Tony rubbed his pounding head, "I just want you to know that I'm going to do my best as Lead Agent. I'll never be Gibbs, but I'll try to use all the things he taught me. It's important that I not let him down, even now."

McGee nodded, "I'm glad to be part of your team Tony. We might not always see things the same way, but it doesn't mean I'm not glad to work with you."

Tony flushed with embarrassment. "Thanks, Tim. I really needed to hear that." He waited a moment, "Now, this doesn't mean I won't still head slap you…."

McGee responded with a wounded look. "Just stay away from the super-glue and we'll both be fine."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

After Abby and McGee left, Tony found himself wandering around the quiet house. His bare feet slipped silently across the hardwood floors. Feeling the smooth surface beneath his toes, the memory washed over him like a soft summer rain.

"_Shit, shit, shit," Tony mumbled, cursing his own stupidity. He had only been on Gibb's team for two weeks and he had screwed up big time. _

_The field agent had been staying at Gibb's house for the last few days. The unexpected living arrangement resulted from a sprained ankle and some bruised ribs Tony suffered while apprehending a suspect. Gibbs had driven his agent home, staring incredulously at the fleabag hotel where Tony was staying until he found a decent apartment. Before Tony had a chance to open the car door, Gibbs was already pulling out of the parking lot._

"_Uh, Boss, shouldn't you have waited until I got out of the car?" Tony asked, confused. Gibbs gave him an unreadable look. Tony thought he seemed mad, but the younger man couldn't figure out what he had done wrong._

"_You can stay at my place," came the gruff reply._

_Tony was shocked. Most of the other agents were scared to even talk to Gibbs and it had taken Tony a few days to start getting a basic rapport with the ex-marine. He didn't know if bunking at the former gunnery sergeant's house was such a good idea. But the hotel was pretty disgusting; hot water was a hit-or-miss prospect and he'd noticed a couple of very interesting bugs in the bathroom._

"_Are you sure you want me to do that? Believe it or not, I can be kind of annoying." He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile in the grizzled face._

"_I don't doubt that, DiNozzo, but you'll never make it up and down those stairs with a bum ankle. Plus, with the number of prostitutes living in that place, you might end up getting distracted and not making it in to work one of these days." Gibbs grinned fully now. _

_After the Lead Agent called Ducky to pick up Tony's things, the three of them ate dinner together in Gibb's kitchen. Tony had been unusually quiet; the easy friendship between the older men was something he wasn't accustomed to sharing. Following dinner, Ducky re-bandaged his ribs and ankle, then Gibbs sent him off to bed. When Tony tried to protest that he didn't need a bedtime, he'd been met with a glare that had him scurrying to the spare room. DiNozzo felt oddly like a college graduate who had moved back home with his parents. _

_But, despite the teasing from Blackadder and several other agents, Tony actually enjoyed living with Gibbs. It was more like a home than anything he had ever experienced. To show his gratitude, he made a serious effort to pull his own weight with chores and to not get in Gibb's way, which wasn't that difficult considering the older man spent most of his time in the basement, anyway._

_The lack of a television, however, was just too much. Tony decided to fix that problem by bringing in his own portable set and video player. Placing the television on a small table, he tried to arrange the furniture in a way to make the tiny screen viewable. He shifted the couch and recliner some, slid a table this way and that until he was satisfied. Just as he was smiling at his handiwork, he looked down at the floor and discovered he was about to die._

_The beautiful hardwood floors in Gibb's living room were covered in scratches. Dozens and dozens of scratches. Several were deep enough to qualify as gouges. Tony was terror-stricken, which is what led him to stand in Gibb's living room repeating those three words._

"_Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled again._

"_What in the hell is that, DiNozzo?" the old marine barked at him._

_Gibbs was standing just inside the living room gazing at the floors. His blue eyes were heated._

"_I am so sorry, Boss," Tony apologized. "I didn't know I was scratching the floor. I'll get it fixed, I promise. God, I'm so stupid!"_

_Gibbs just stared at him. "No, Tony, you won't get it fixed," he said with finality._

"_What?" Tony asked. "Oh," he added. Hanging his head, he turned to leave the room and get his things._

"_Where are you going?" Gibbs deep voice boomed._

"_Well, I suppose you want me to leave?" Tony asked hesitantly._

"_Did I ask you to leave?" Gibbs questioned._

"_I guess not," Tony replied slowly. "But you don't want me to have this fixed, so I just thought…."_

"_That's because __**you**__ are going to fix it," the Lead Agent explained._

"_Me?" Tony questioned. "If you haven't noticed, Gibbs, I'm from Long Island. I wouldn't know how to fix this if you held a gun to my head." Tony paused, an idea striking him. "You aren't planning to do that are you?"_

_Gibbs expression indicated that might not be a bad idea. "I guess I'll have to teach you what to do. But you tore it up, so you have to fix it," he repeated._

"_You're going to teach me? How long is this gonna take?" Tony asked._

"_A couple of weeks. It'll take that long to find you a decent enough place of your own anyway. We'll start tomorrow after work," Gibbs decided. "Now, hit the rack. You're going to need the rest before I'm through with you." _

_It had been a grueling project, but to Tony's surprise, he didn't mind. No one had ever taken as much time to work with him on something as Gibbs did this, and he enjoyed the hours they spent sanding and staining. The older man talked to him, discussing their cases and describing all the rules. At one point, while applying a coat of stain, Tony had exclaimed, "Hey, this reminds me of a movie! The Karate Kid! Pat Morita, Ralph Macchio. Wax on, wax off? Ever see it?" Gibbs just raised his eyebrow. "Guess not," Tony added._

_The next night Tony forced the older man to watch the movie. At the end, Gibbs said, "You wish you knew karate like that kid, DiNozzo. You might be able to take down a suspect without getting hurt." _

_By the time they finished the floor, Tony found an apartment and was ready to move out. But more than that, he found someone he could look up to. He had never met anyone he really trusted, who didn't disappoint him. With Gibbs he knew where he stood, and that the man meant what he said. Tony would never take that for granted, just like he would never take his boss for granted._

DiNozzo was sitting cross-legged on the floor; he rubbed his thin fingers over the wood recalling the days they had spent together to create the perfect finish. He once again felt the burn of tears in his eyes. The last time he endured this kind of pain was when his mother died. Thinking about the last ten years, Tony admitted that Gibbs had been more of a father to him than his biological dad ever was. The realization made him miss the grizzly old marine even more than he thought possible.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The burglar had made a mess of Gibb's master bedroom. There were books and papers pulled from drawers and scattered throughout the room. Tony sighed, knowing he needed to clean up. Slowly he started collecting papers and stacking them together. He looked at the book titles as he gathered them to place on a shelf. _Woodworking 101, The History of Baseball, How to Speak Fluent Russian. _As he moved to slide the last title on the shelf, a picture fluttered to the floor.

Picking up the photograph and looking at it closely, DiNozzo immediately noticed a younger version of Gibbs. Another man stood to the side, his face familiar, but Tony couldn't come up with a name. The last figure in the picture was a woman. "There's no way," Tony said aloud, peering at the image. It couldn't be Katerina Sokolov. This woman would have to be at least twenty years older than the dead prostitute. But they looked almost identical. The woman in the picture was a little different; fuller lips, smaller eyes, shorter. Yet there were so many similarities, clearly they had to be related.

Tony noticed the building in the background. Unmistakable architecture. Red Square. _They're in Russia!_ he realized. He looked at the back of the picture, but there was nothing written. No names and no dates. _What was going on with you, Gibbs? _Tony questioned. There was definitely more to his Russian trip than Gibbs had suggested, and Tony was more determined than ever to find out what.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"You could not locate anything?" the blonde-haired man asked in his heavily accented Russian.

"Nothing. I was interrupted, but there was no sign of the picture or any other information about the Secretary," he informed his counterpart.

The blonde man paced, deep in thought. "We will wait for now. Perhaps Gibbs did not tell DiNozzo anything about the reason he went to Russia. Keep him under surveillance. It there is any indication DiNozzo knows something he will need to be eliminated, just like we eliminated his boss," the Russian intoned.

The large, burly, bald man with a goatee shook his head with frustration. "I do not like this, Dimitry," he said. "There are still too many loose ends. Katerina should have never put us in this situation."

"I know, Ivan. Katerina was a foolish girl; it is a shame she had to die for her ignorance. If she would have just stayed in Russia as I requested! But no, she had to follow us to America and try to earn her own living. As a prostitute!" He shook his head. "She was an embarrassment to us all."

Ivan sighed. "I should not have lost my temper when I found her. But to see her with that man!" he growled, clenching his meaty fists, his dark eyes blazing. "I did not mean to kill her," he added, trying to reign in the violent temper that once more surged out of control. "I only meant to bring her to you, as was requested. I know the way she died has caused a great deal of difficulty for you and the Secretary."

Dimitry patted the man's thickly muscled arm. They had planned on killing Katerina anyway, just in a less messy manner. She had become too much of a liability for them. "It is forgiven, Ivan. I blame Katerina, not you. But now we must continue to do what we can to protect the interests of the Secretary. His connection to Katerina must never be known. Even if that means we must kill Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he stated coldly. Ivan nodded in agreement.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The car purred beneath him. The engine rumbled with perfect timing; he could feel it throbbing through the floorboard and into his legs. He curled his fingers around the steering wheel, sitting for a moment, breathing in the smell of leather and oil. He glanced at the darkened street; above him stars twinkled in the clear sky. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the pedal to the floor, screeching from the driveway into the night.

After a restless day spent puttering around Gibb's house and nursing his hangover, Tony had lain awake staring at the ceiling, knowing that sleep wouldn't come. Finally, he decided to literally drive away the demons. He looked at the window of the apartment. He didn't know how he ended up here. Abruptly pulling out his phone, he found the name and dialed the number. He watched as the light came on behind the curtains. A few seconds later, a sleepy voice answered. "Yes, Tony. Do we have a case?" Ziva questioned.

He paused. Now that she had answered, what should he say? "No." he replied tersely. "Come downstairs."

"Is everything alright?" she asked, apprehension evident in her voice.

"Just come downstairs," he said.

"Give me five minutes," she replied and disconnected the line.

True to her word, five minutes later she stepped from the door, long hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She glanced around to find him, dark eyes suddenly noticing the car parked in front of her building.

Approaching the yellow and black Challenger, she gently ran her hand along the side, before opening the passenger door and sliding inside. She looked at him, but didn't speak.

Without a glance at her, he put the car in gear and tore out into the dark. They drove without talking for miles. Scenery flashed by, one moment there, the next gone as they turned another corner, accelerated down a highway, passed other drivers as though standing still. The car met her expectations; the driver exceeded them.

She had never seen Tony so focused, so intent on the task at hand. His gaze never wavered from the road in front of him, one hand on the wheel, the other shifting fiercely. Even at one point when they were traveling at least 100 miles per hour, she never felt fear, only exhilaration. As they banked a small rise in the pavement for a few seconds the car went airborne, and Ziva shrieked in delight despite herself. Tony finally graced her with a toothy grin.

They ended up parked by a small pond; Tony skipped rocks across the surface of the water while Ziva sat at the edge with her arms wrapped around her knees. Eventually Tony came to sit beside her. He draped his jacket across her shoulders and let his arm stay there, hanging loosely. She tilted her head to the side and let it rest against his chest. The masculine smell of his cologne comforted her.

After a while, she asked softly, "Do you still think he might be alive?"

"I don't know, Ziva," he replied. "My instincts have never stopped telling me he isn't gone, but if he is alive, why wouldn't he contact us? Why not come back?"

"I think we have to accept that he is gone. Otherwise we will never be able to move forward," she said sadly. "He would want us to do that."

"I know," Tony replied. He stood and pulled her up beside him.

"Thank you, Ziva," he said, kissing her gently on the cheek, trying to prevent his day-old stubble from scratching her skin.

She smiled and touched his face, "You are welcome, Tony."

The weak rays of the morning sun broke through the clouds as he drove her home.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

As weeks passed, Tony developed a routine. He maintained his apartment, but spent most of his evenings at Gibb's house, either drinking in the basement or driving the Challenger around DC at all hours of the night. Vance made him team leader and life went on; marines kept dying and they kept investigating. But even though the team was operating smoothly and solving crimes, the Director felt DiNozzo looked like hell. It was obvious the new Lead Agent wasn't sleeping well and was possibly fighting a serious depression. However, until Tony decided to talk about it or it affected his job performance, there wasn't much anyone could do. Vance just observed, and waited for the younger man to hit a wall. He hoped it wouldn't take too much to scrape him off.

For his part, Tony thought he was holding it together pretty well. He didn't get drunk every night, made it to work on time, and was still working cases. Considering how he felt, that was a vast accomplishment. Like most class clowns, Tony possessed an equally dark and moody side that he covered up with his antics. Lately, however, it was becoming more and more difficult for him to keep the darkness at bay.

Beyond his depressed mood, his other main worry was the people following him.

There were two men he noticed off and on; they tailed him most of the time. He even thought they might have been going through things in Gibb's house, but nothing was stolen. Tony just sensed someone had been there.

He didn't mention the tails to anyone; DiNozzo was actually somewhat afraid he was becoming paranoid. A small part of him wondered if he was manufacturing the people following him as an excuse to believe Gibbs might be alive. After finishing off a bottle of vodka, he even thought he'd seen the old marine in the house one night. But that was crazy. If Gibbs was out walking around he would contact him, and Tony didn't believe in ghosts.

Finally, he decided the only way to solve his dilemma once and for all was to catch one of them in the act.

Walking down the street, Tony quickly stepped into an alley and hid against the brick corner of a building. Several people strolled by, then suddenly one of the men passed. Tony quickly grabbed his collar and shoved the man into the shadows and back against the hard surface. "Who the hell are you?" DiNozzo demanded roughly, pressing his arm against the man's neck. "Why are you following me?"

The man struggled to free himself from the agent's grip. "Let me go," he demanded in heavily accented Russian.

That got Tony's attention. Reaching in the man's pocket with his free hand, the Lead Agent pulled out the Russian's wallet and flipped to his identification card. _Dimitry Petrov. _"What has this got to do with Jethro Gibbs?" Tony shouted, banging the man's head into the wall. "Is he alive?"

The Russian slipped down a little, but came up swinging. Tony responded with vicious force, landing several solid punches to the man's face and stomach, before taking him to the ground with a kick that would have made Mr. Miagi proud. Straddling the now injured man, Tony continued to hit him, all the time demanding he reveal what he knew about Gibb's death. The Russian spit blood from his mouth, but kept repeating, "I will tell you nothing!"

The agent had been so involved in the fight, he forgot about the second tail, that is until pain radiated from the back of his head and his vision went black except for tiny points of light dancing in the darkness. He groaned and fell heavily off the Russian, not completely unconscious, but unable to move for a few minutes. Through his grey vision he saw a thickly muscled man leverage the bloody victim off the ground.

Dimitry stared down at Tony for a moment, blood dripping from his brutalized nose, before delivering a hard kick to the agent's abdomen. Tony gasped and curled up. Dimitry bent down beside him and said through bloody lips, "We were content to just follow and find out what you know, Agent DiNozzo. But you will pay for what you did today." He spat red phlegm in Tony's face and walked away.

The NCIS agent lay on the dirty ground, his sight returning to normal as he breathed in heavily through his mouth. Using the wall as support to get to his feet, Tony looked in the direction the two men had gone. _If I don't make you pay first_, he promised silently. Straightening his tie, he stepped back out on the street, deciding to enlist the aid of the one person who could help him.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Unknown to Tony, another figure emerged onto the sidewalk, staying far back from the well-dressed, but now bedraggled federal agent. The observer was dirty and disheveled, wearing ill-fitting clothes and a long, ripped coat. His hands were shoved in his pockets. An oversized hat covered the upper part of his face, hiding his silver hair and ice blue eyes. Gibbs watched as Tony walked into a coffee shop. _Dammit, DiNozzo, _he thought. _You're going to end up getting yourself killed. _He fought the urge to walk up behind his friend and head slap him for his recklessness. Instead, the older man veered in the same direction as Tony's assailants, hoping to find out what they were up to. It was the only way he knew to protect his former partner from the danger that was all around him now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: I know I said this would be up tomorrow, but it's a rainy day here and with nothing else on my agenda, I decided to go ahead and post it now. We pick up the pace in this chapter. A lot of brooding, angry Tony, and the ending…well, you'll see. Our usually happy-go-lucky boy has a lot to deal with today! (and it doesn't get much better from here on out).**

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews. If reviews are like treats, you would need to rub my belly now! Keep 'em coming-Love to hear from you :) **

**TH**

"Who loves ya, baby?" Tony asked, doing his best Kojak imitation as he walked into Abby's lab.

"Hey, Tony," Abby replied, glancing up from her work. The attractive Goth was dressed in head to toe black; black t-shirt, black mini-skirt, black boots, black lipstick, even black nail polish. It wasn't unusual for the forensic scientist to wear black; the unusual thing was that she had worn _only_ black since Gibb's death. No other color sparked her wardrobe; it was her way of mourning the older man she had loved dearly. Abby gave Tony the same sad smile she had worn for the last few months. "I don't really have anything yet, but I should be able to get you some information in another three or four hours," she explained, assuming DiNozzo wanted an update about the dead marine they were currently investigating.

"That's fine, Abby," he said. "I'm not here about the dead Marine anyway. I have something else I'd like you to do for me." He gazed at her seriously.

Abby narrowed her eyes. "What are you up to, Tony?" she asked warily. She noticed his suit was not up to his normally impeccable standards, but instead was wrinkled and streaked with dirt. The Goth scientist reached to touch his blood-stained collar. "Were you in a fight?" Concern tightened her voice.

The new Lead Agent laced his hand around her fingers and gently pulled them away from his shirt. Tony smiled slightly, revealing a Caf-Pow he had been holding behind his back. "Just remember I brought you this," he coaxed, trying to change the subject.

Abby took the drink and sipped, still giving Tony an uneasy look. It was obvious her friend was hiding something. "So what do you want me to do?" she questioned.

"This is just between the two of us, alright Abs? I don't even know what it is I'm investigating yet," he pulled the picture he had found in Gibb's house from his suit pocket. "I need you to help me identify the people in this photograph."

"Well, one of them is easy," she said. "This is a picture of Gibbs in Russia. The other two will take some time to figure out, since I'll have to use age progression software." The dark-haired scientist studied the picture some more. "I'll get started and give you a call when I have something." She paused, "Tony, does this have anything to do with Gibbs' death? I know you still aren't convinced, you know, that he's actually gone." Her voice got softer at the end. She stared intently at the picture in her hand of a younger, grinning Gibbs.

Tony wrapped his arm around his friend. "Maybe, Abby," he told her. "That's part of the reason I don't want anyone else to know. That way if nothing comes of it I don't get everybody's hopes up and I don't look crazy. Well, crazier than I already look." He smiled at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

Abby laughed. "I don't think you're crazy, Tony. And I'll make sure to keep your secret. Now, let me get back to it so I can get you something asap," she shoved him toward the door. "But," she added, pulling him to a stop. "I expect you to take care of yourself, buster. Gibbs…." she hesitated and took a deep breath. "Gibbs isn't here to watch your six, and I'm not saying that Ziva and Tim don't do a good job, but this is _you _we're talking about. You require a lot of extra watching. So be careful, Tony."

"You're my guardian angel, Abs," he said, pecking her on the cheek before she pushed him into the hallway. He could hear the music vibrating louder and watched her head bouncing up and down as she went back to work.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"You got anything on our dead marine?" Tony asked McGee and Ziva as he walked into the bullpen. Settling behind his desk and turning on his computer, the current Lead Agent involuntarily peeked over at Gibbs' empty desk. Nothing had been moved. Even after weeks, Tony was still unable to stop himself from staring at the spot where for years he could count on his boss sitting, growling out orders at the rest of the team. He smiled to himself as he pictured Gibbs striding across the floor saying, "Grab your gear."

Instead, Ziva was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Tony!" she said loudly, after several failed attempts to get his attention.

"Oh, sorry, Ziva," he responded. "What were you saying?"

The Israeli sighed; she was growing accustomed to Tony's momentary lapses of attention. "We want to interview the marine's wife again. It appears she was having an affair she forgot to mention," Ziva explained. McGee walked up to stand beside her.

"Always suspect the wife," Tony agreed absently. "Go on, interview her again. I have some things to take care of here."

"Is everything ok?" McGee asked hesitantly. Tony was still rough around the edges; his eyes were tired and his suit appeared to be uncharacteristically dirty and stained. They were all continuing to suffer from the effects of Gibb's death, but Tony wasn't getting over it very quickly.

"I'm fine, McNurse, thanks for asking," Tony said with a little more sarcasm than he intended. He ran his hand through his unruly hair. "Call me when you get done interviewing the wife. Let me know if you find anything."

McGee pursed his lips and glanced over at Ziva. He grabbed their gear and the two headed for the elevator, worried lines on their faces.

When the silver doors closed, Ziva spoke up, "Tony is not doing well no matter what he says. He looks like something the rat dragged in."

"It's cat, Ziva, not rat. But you're right. I'm just not sure there's anything we can do about it." They rode the rest of the way in concerned silence.

Tony felt bad for not telling them more about his suspicions, but if Gibb's Russian investigation was dangerous enough to get the older man killed, it wasn't something Tony wanted to risk the rest of the team getting involved in yet. He sighed and started searching for information on his new best friend, Dimitry Petrov.

Several hours later, the agent was rewarded for his efforts. Petrov was a Russian immigrant who worked for a shipping company located on the docks. He had links to the Russian mob and was suspected in several murders, but had yet to be charged with any crimes. While in Russia he gained a nasty reputation as an assassin for hire. He was closely associated with another Russian mobster named Ivan Medved, who Tony recognized from his picture as the piece of beef with Dimitry in the alley. _Why is a big bad Ruskie like you following little old me? _Tony mused, leaning back in his chair.

The phone on his desk rang; Tony checked the caller id._ Vance. _The two men had developed a tolerable relationship over the last few months, but Tony still didn't enjoy being at the other man's beck and call. "Hello, Director," he said, picking up the phone.

"I'd like to speak with you in my office, Agent DiNozzo," the Director requested.

"On my way," he replied.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Vance laid the report he was reading aside. He would never have to worry about being called a sensitive man, but he was observant enough to realize that despite the passage of time, his new Lead Agent was stretched as taught as piano wire. If the younger man snapped at any minute he wouldn't be surprised. The Director was unsure of how to help the agent through his grief; he doubted that DiNozzo would ever consider talking to someone like a counselor. He seriously doubted that DiNozzo wanted to talk to him. The only person he was aware of that Tony every truly confided in was Gibbs. _And with Gibbs gone, who does he turn to now? _During his long years in law enforcement, Vance had seen many men lose partners who were closer to them than any real family. The agents often ended up burnt out or washed up within a few months. He didn't want to see that happen to Tony.

Vance looked up as Tony entered the office and took a seat across from him. "Is there a problem?" DiNozzo asked bluntly.

The Director tilted his head. "Not really," he replied. "How is your current case going?"

Tony narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out the purpose of this conversation. Vance wasn't one for small talk. "Fine. Ziva and McGee are out questioning a suspect; it looks like a pretty solid lead," he summarized.

Vance studied the man seated across from him. The Lead Agent appeared relaxed; his jacket was unbuttoned and his legs were crossed as he waited patiently for Vance's next move. What bothered the Director were the little things that might go unnoticed by those who didn't know him well. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his rumpled suit hung loosely, the distant and faraway expression that rarely left his face, the hands that involuntarily clenched into fists. He and Tony could hardly be considered friends, but over time he had developed a respect for the younger man, and he could see his concern was warranted.

The Director cleared his throat. "How are you doing, Tony?" he asked. "To be honest, you still look like hell, and I need to know that you're 100% to continue your duties as Lead Agent for this team." His tone came out harsher than intended, but it was probably the best way to approach the topic with DiNozzo. He knew the green-eyed agent did not necessarily respond well to a gentle hand. Gibbs had proven that with every well-timed head slap.

Tony shifted uncomfortably. "As far as I can tell, our team's closure rate is at the same level it's always been. Are you concerned I'm not doing my job?" he asked defensively. "Because I really can't see where I've let anything slide."

"DiNozzo," Vance began again. "Tony. There is nothing I can criticize regarding your work as Lead Agent. That isn't why I asked you to come here." He uneasily cleared his throat again. _Damn, this was hard. _"I want to know if you're doing ok. Losing Gibbs has been difficult on all of us, you most of all. You've had to step up and lead this team despite dealing with any personal reactions you might be experiencing."

Tony scratched his chin; noticed some stubble growing there. _Forgot to shave again._ He did not want to have this conversation. It was bad enough that every time he looked around someone from the team was staring at him, checking to see if he was alright. When he caught their looks they would quickly glance away, but the message was clear. _DiNozzo could crack up at any moment. Better watch out. _Now the Director was jumping on the bandwagon. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Any "personal reactions" I have I can handle on my own time," he replied testily. He knew Vance was just trying to help in his own way, but he hadn't fallen quite low enough to need that help just yet.

Vance pulled out a toothpick; plucked it between his teeth. He could tell this discussion wasn't going anywhere. _Fine, _he decided. _Time to change the subject._

"Your choice," he said. "But I did want to let you know that if you need to talk…." He shrugged. The offer was out there; it was the best he could do. Drumming his fingers on the desk, Vance switched gears. "The SecNav called this morning; he wanted to know how we were handling things with Gibbs gone. The two of them worked some assignments together years ago, so he's taken a special interest in the situation."

Tony said nothing, just met the Director's stare with his own.

"I told him you were in charge now and it was going well. He said he would be back in town in a few days and would like to get acquainted with the man who could take the place of Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Vance continued. "Think you're up for that?"

"No one takes the place of Gibbs," Tony said softly, standing up. "I'm not even trying. I'm just standing in the same spot he used to, hoping to remember everything he taught me and not screw up." DiNozzo laughed wryly. "But I'll do my best not to embarrass you or the agency if that's what you're asking."

Vance sighed. _One step forward, two steps back. _"That's not what I meant, Tony," the Director clarified. "I just wondered if you were ready to talk about Gibbs with him. I'm sure it's still a painful topic of discussion, especially with someone you don't know."

"I'll handle it," DiNozzo responded impatiently; the sympathy was grating on his nerves. It wasn't like every second of the day there were constant reminders that Gibbs was gone. _Not gone, DiNozzo. That makes it sound like the man is on some extended vacation. Not gone, but dead. There was a finality to the word he didn't like. But that wasn't Vance's fault._ The agent shook his head at his own childishness; he knew he was just lashing out at a convenient target.

Tony stopped at the door and turned slightly. "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate…..you know." The agent paused awkwardly and shut the door behind him.

"I know, Tony," the Director said. "I know."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony slowed down beside the empty desk as he headed back into the bullpen. He stopped; hesitantly he walked behind the desk and sat down in Gibbs' empty chair. Opening the drawer he smiled at the flask of bourbon sitting in the bottom beside an old blue mug with NCIS written in the center. There were few other personal effects to explore; the boss had never been a man of affectation. Sitting there, Tony could swear he smelled a whiff of Old Spice, sawdust, and Dial soap. No, Gibbs didn't operate on pretense. He left that to DiNozzo.

He wondered again what secrets Gibbs had been keeping this time, and why the older man hadn't trusted him enough to tell him. They were friends; he honestly believed that Gibbs saw him like a son. He had left him his house, after all. So why had the man continued to lock him out when the stakes were at their highest? If his boss had been there, Tony would have given him a serious dressing down. It hadn't happened very often in their friendship, but this was too much. DiNozzo was angry that he would never know what Gibbs had been thinking when he decided to go it alone again.

Slowly, wishing he could shake the feeling of emptiness that had become a constant companion, he made his way back to his own desk. _Maybe it's true,_ he thought. _And Gibbs is really gone for good. _Opening his own bottom drawer, he took out the box that held all of Gibbs' medals. Tony didn't know why he kept them; it hadn't seemed right to just throw them away. He ran his fingers over the bronze, silver, and ribbons. A lump formed in his throat, and he shut his eyes against the sensation. Thrusting the medals back in the drawer, Tony cradled his head in his hands.

"Shit," he muttered to no one.

He raised his head as Abby bounded off the elevator, platform boots landing heavily with each step. She sat down in McGee's chair and rolled over next to Tony. "I got something for you," she whispered conspiratorially.

Pulling himself together, Tony raised his eyebrow in response.

She pointed at the images in the photograph. "This," she said, indicating the woman. "Is Elena Sokolov, and yes, that is the same last name of the murdered Russian prostitute we've been investigating." Tony gave the scientist an appreciative nod. "You will never guess who the man is," Abby continued with barely contained enthusiasm.

Tony stared at the picture again. The man looked extremely familiar, but the agent still couldn't identify him. He shook his head. "I have no idea, Abby," he finally said.

"That, Tony, is the Secretary of the Navy, Philip Davenport," she stated triumphantly.

"Really," Tony intoned, looking at the photograph again. He had met the SecNav once before, but there had been no hint at a connection with Gibbs. _More secrets._ Secretary of the Navy Philip Davenport had his arm wrapped around Elena Sokolov's waist, hugging her close. It was a rather intimate pose. "I wonder what was going on with those two," he mused out loud. "And what does it have to do with our dead prostitute?"

Abby continued to speak in a whisper, taking her secret assistant role seriously. "You do know the SecNav has become a big-time political player recently, don't you?" she asked. "Rumor is he's positioning himself for a possible run for President. He's using the Navy's successes in uncovering terrorist cells to promote himself as the perfect person to keep the country safe. He's been on all the political talk shows recently."

Tony nodded; he had seen the Secretary's maneuvering. Until now it appeared rather harmless. It seemed quite a coincidence that the SecNav had called this morning to check him out. He glanced over at Gibbs' desk; he could almost hear the older man's voice telling him not to believe in coincidences.

DiNozzo handed Abby the picture. "Keep this somewhere safe," he requested. "We might need it later."

Abby squirmed in the chair nervously. "Tony, what do you think is going on here? Could the SecNav know more about what happened to Gibbs than he told us? He _was_ the one who asked Gibbs to go to Russia."

"I'm not sure yet, Abs, but I plan to find out. Don't tell anyone about this until I let you know it's ok. Let me see where this is going first," he requested of his friend.

"But, Tony, whatever this is could be dangerous. Gibbs probably died because of it," she explained with concern. Wet tears sparkled in her eyes. "I can't stand the thought of something bad happening to you, too."

Tony rubbed her arm. "I'll be fine. But I owe it to the boss to get to the bottom of this," he said. "It's bad enough that I've had to involve you; I don't want Ziva and McGee to be dragged into it, too." He thought about the men who had been following him. No, he couldn't deal with losing anyone else he cared about. "You're the one who needs to be careful; don't let anyone know what you've been looking into. And if you even suspect that someone is following you or that you're in any kind of danger, call me immediately. Is that clear?" he asked.

Despite the tears that threatened to fall, Abby's lips curled up into a smile. "Crystal," she responded.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Ziva and McGee returned with the wife in tow; several hours and several rounds of interrogation later, she confessed completely to killing her husband after finding out about his affair. The team had successfully closed another case.

The beautiful Israeli sat on the edge of Tony's desk staring down at her handsome partner while he finished up paperwork. "Well, Tony, you should be happy. You were correct this time; it actually was the wife," she smirked playfully.

Tony smiled, but didn't rise to her level of playfulness. He was tired and distracted with thoughts of Dimtry, the SecNav, and the Sokolovs. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a custodian approaching Gibbs' desk. He watched silently as the older woman stopped her cleaning cart and started removing items from around Gibbs' computer; she moved to place them in a trash bag attached to her cart.

The NCIS agent stood, ignored Ziva, and approached the woman. "What are you doing?" he asked irritably. "Why are you moving these things?"

The woman looked up, surprise on her face. "I'm sorry. I was told the agent who worked at this desk wasn't coming back and I needed to get it cleaned up before someone else was assigned here. Is there a problem?" she asked, glancing nervously at Ziva who had walked over to stand by Tony. McGee stopped his own typing and watched the exchange.

"Yeah, there's a problem." Tony answered shortly. "I don't know who is giving you directions, but this desk is not to be touched. Not one item is to be removed. If anyone has an issue with that, you send them to me." A vein in DiNozzo's neck bulged as he struggled to control his rising anger. It wasn't this woman's fault someone had overstepped their bounds. However, he did want the message sent that Gibbs' desk was to remain the same; he would let them know when it was time to move something. And right now wasn't the time.

"Alright," the woman agreed hesitantly. "I was just following orders; I didn't mean to upset anyone." She smiled at Ziva who smiled back reassuringly.

"It is ok," Ziva said. "It was just a mistake. Have your supervisor call if there are any questions."

The woman nodded, looked again at Tony who had folded his arms and was staring at his shoes, and walked away with her cleaning cart.

The three agents waited in silence a moment. McGee stood and said, "Maybe…..maybe we should pack up his stuff. You know, do something with it for safe-keeping." He made eye contact with Ziva and tilted his head questioningly.

Tony looked up from the fascinating spot on the floor. "I know when you guys thought I'd been blown up you started snatching my possessions in just a few hours. But Gibbs? I mean, I thought you'd want to pay him a little more respect than that," he simmered.

"It has been months now Tony. How long do you think we should wait?" Ziva asked cautiously.

Tony turned to face her, anger now clear in his emerald-green eyes. "Longer than this!" he shouted, gaining the attention of several passing employees. "Oh, hell," he added, reaching over to open one of Gibbs' desk drawers. "Just get rid of it! What does it matter? It's just a reminder that he's not coming back and we'll never know why anyway!" Tony started throwing items in the trash can beside the agent's desk. The coffee mug shattered loudly. The flask of bourbon clinked and liquid leaked out. He added a pencil holder and rolodex to the growing pile.

"Tony, stop." McGee placed his hand on DiNozzo's elbow. Tony rounded on him, fury and despair in every line of expression. He grabbed the junior agent's wrist and pulled McGee's hand away from his arm, raising his other balled fist as if to strike his surprised friend.

McGee had never really been afraid of Tony, but for a second he actually believed the older man might hit him. Fear, shock, and horror crossed Tim's normally placid features.

Reading the look, Tony stared at his own fist and the painful way he was twisting McGee's wrist. "Fuck," he said, turning McGee loose.

Tim stared at Tony for a few tense moments. "You weren't the only one who loved him, you know," McGee said quietly.

Tony's jaw clenched and he looked away. "I know," DiNozzo replied. Quickly he turned and grabbed his backpack, heading for the elevator.

"Tony," McGee called, trying to stop him. "Tony, wait."

Ziva placed a hand on Tim's shoulder as the elevator doors closed behind Tony's back. "Let him go," she said. "Let him be alone. It is what he needs right now."

Standing at the balcony, Director Leon Vance shook his head and walked back toward his office.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

After leaving to cool down, Tony had gone back to Katerina Sokolov's apartment building. He needed something to do until it got dark enough to approach the shipping company warehouse where Dimitry worked. The few people standing around outside recognized him from previous visits and scurried away before he could start asking questions. He stared up at the door to Katerina's small flat and wondered if he was just wasting his time.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" The voice behind him was soft, feminine, and Russian.

"I want justice for Katerina," he said without turning. "Can you help me give that to her?"

"Follow me," she said, brushing past him. The girl was very young, wearing a tight blouse, short skirt, and impossibly high red heels. Her hair was big and curly and the make-up she wore was loud and bright. Obviously a prostitute. Tony shook his head at the sad cliché she was living.

Stepping into a deserted alley, she turned. "You aren't going to bust me, are you?"

"Not my gig," Tony responded. "That's for vice to do. I'm just here to try and help Katerina."

The girl sighed. "I wish someone could have helped her. She was really nice. We came over from Russia together. She said her father was going to help get her started in America, but once she got here he would barely speak to her. Katerina cried and cried." The girl lit a cigarette, blew a puff of smoke. Tony thought the adult action made her look even younger.

"Her father was a powerful man; he scared Kat, threatened her. I think he had something to do with her death."

"Who was her father?" Tony asked hopefully.

The girl shook her head, curls bouncing from side to side. "I really shouldn't get involved in this."

Tony kept pressing. "Did Katerina tell you anything we could use to help prove who killed her? "

The girl hesitated. "Maybe. But I'm afraid—if Dimitry and Ivan find out I'm even talking to you, I might end up like Kat. My life might not be perfect, but I'd still like to keep it."

_Dimitry and Ivan. Interesting that those two are involved._

"We can protect you. I would make sure of it," Tony provided, trying to gain her confidence.

She studied him. Even at her tender age, a hard life had made her a good judge of character. "I think you would try," she finally agreed. "But I don't know if you would succeed. I'll think about it."

He handed her a card with his contact information. "My name is Tony. If you need anything, even if it doesn't have to do with Katerina, just call me. You don't have to live like this, you know."

Her sad smile tugged at his heart. "I wish you were right," she said, her voice tinged with tears. "My name is Tania."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he told her, and meant it. He tapped the card. "Remember. Any time." Putting on his sunglasses, he turned and walked toward his car in order to drive to the docks.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

A short time later, DiNozzo moved slowly down the dock toward the warehouse where Dimitry Petrov supposedly worked. He couldn't escape the memory of the look on McGee's face when he raised his fist to his long-time friend. What had he been thinking? How could he even consider hitting McGee? He would apologize as soon as he got back. Screw the rules. There was no excuse for his behavior. Gibbs was gone, _dead_, he corrected, and he was going to have to deal with it. He didn't want to, but he had no choice.

The warehouse appeared to be deserted. The sun was setting on the horizon; evening shadows lengthened around him covering the area in spreading darkness. He knew he shouldn't be here alone; he was breaking a dozen more rules right now—Gibbs', his own, common sense. Yet he couldn't bring himself to risk anyone else at this point. If he found something, some type of concrete connection between the SecNav, Dimitry and the dead prostitute, then he would feel more comfortable bringing in the others. Maybe Tania, the girl he met today, would be the key.

But eventually telling the team his suspicions was something he knew he had to do, since the lack of communication was exactly what had him angry at Gibbs. The last thing he wanted to be was a hypocrite. First thing tomorrow, he decided, he would tell them what little he had found out so far, no matter what he turned up here tonight.

It took a few minutes to pick the lock on the door, but soon he was inside. No one had passed by, so he was fairly certain he had entered unseen. The building was quiet; there were no noises indicating anyone else was around. Taking out his weapon, Tony silently made his way through the rooms, noting most of them were empty. A large storage area took up the majority of the space; the agent noticed a small office on the other side. A soft orange glow cast a weak light from the open door. Staying near the wall, Tony crept around the room and toward the light.

Taking a deep breath, DiNozzo poked his head around the doorframe, grateful to find the office deserted. He sighed and holstered his Sig. Taking inventory of the space, the agent sucked in a breath at what he noticed along the wall.

A cork board was scattered with dozens of pictures. Pictures of him entering and leaving Gibbs' house, him on the street and driving his car, a few images of the other team members, including everyone from Abby to Palmer. "What the hell?" he asked out loud, reaching out to touch the edge of a photo of him, McGee, and Ziva at a crime scene. They were obviously being followed more closely than he realized. He shifted his timetable; as soon as he left here he would have to warn them.

The slamming of a heavy metal door followed closely by voices interrupted his thoughts. "Damn," he cursed his luck, jogging to the doorway and once again removing his gun. The voices were getting closer. He glanced around for another exit; the nearest exterior door was located on the other side of the storage area. Tony needed to make a move fast; he couldn't risk getting trapped in the small office.

Crouching low, he headed into the shadows along the wall and made his way toward the exit. The three men stopped and exchanged words in fluent Russian. Tony froze, praying they hadn't seen his careful movements.

One of the men narrowed his eyes in DiNozzo's direction and reached for his weapon. Observing the action, Tony responded immediately. He leaped up and raced toward a packing crate, shooting at the same time. One of the Russians fell to the ground with a groan. Another of the trio dove behind a barrel as Tony never stopped firing. Continuing to trade shots, Tony saw one more of his bullets hit home, as a second Russian yelled out in pain and toppled from behind his cover onto the floor.

From far across the room, a previously unseen shadowy figure emerged and took aim. The new participant had the perfect opportunity to pick DiNozzo off from his ineffective hiding spot. With little time to think, process, let alone feel fear, Tony flinched as the man fired, but the bullet's trajectory didn't find him, instead entering the third Russian who cried out, hitting the ground with a thud.

Tony stayed crouched low, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. _Who the hell is that?_ he wondered. _And why did he just save my ass?_

The dark figure moved slightly, a shaft of natural light catching his features._ Silver hair. Straight nose. Set jaw._ _No, it isn't possible. _He tried to calm his racing heart. Tony stood and approached the figure, all consideration of danger or safety leaving his mind. _If only he could see the eyes._

With his attention diverted, Tony didn't notice the injured Russian on the floor who was slowly lifting his gun in his hands, taking aim at the agent whose gaze was focused with laser-like intensity at the person on the other side of the room.

Gibb's practiced instincts kicked in, noticing the barrel of the weapon as it took aim on the young man. "Tony, look out!" he shouted without thinking. The ex-gunnery sergeant jumped from the shadows, fear and panic driving every movement as he held out his own Sig and aimed at the not-so-dead Russian.

Tony froze in place, his weapon hanging limply at his side, staring at the person running across the floor toward him. It was a hallucination; something from a dream. Deep down he had believed the man might still be alive, but to see him here, now, dashing madly across the room, long coat billowing behind him and a gun raised in his hand, pushed DiNozzo's normally stoic senses over the edge and left his mind reeling.

"Boss?" he asked, the word hanging in the still air for several seconds before two gunshots fired, nearly simultaneously, reverberating loudly through the open area.

The Russian fell to the ground with a bullet between his eyes.

"Tony!" Gibbs shouted.

He watched in stunned silence as DiNozzo stumbled, his fingers pressed into vivid red blood quickly spreading across his left shoulder area, ruining his pressed white shirt and soaking through the expensive suit jacket. Bright green eyes opened wide to meet his own. Gibbs couldn't tell if the shocked expression on Tony's face was a result of the ragged hole that pierced his flesh or the Lead Agent's own resurrection from the dead.

"Boss," the younger man said again, his mouth adding the only words his brain could muster. "Why aren't you dead?"

Tony's eyes blinked rapidly before his legs gave way beneath him. The silver-haired man reached out, but couldn't catch DiNozzo before the younger man crashed down in the middle of the warehouse floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: I have a dachshund named Oscar who has a big round belly. I'm going to figure out how to post his picture on my profile. Cause right now, your reviews make me feel like Oscar's happy, fat tummy after a nice pat! Thanks so much!**

**On with the story….. Tony and Gibbs go through some growing pains in the next few chapters, so just trust me, the angst is worth the resolution at the end. Nobody's perfect, not even Gibbs, and well, Tony's flaws make me love him all the more. I'm kind of exploring some of those flaws in both men. And remember, I have no medical knowledge except what I find on Google, so forgive any mistakes. **

**Oh, and tell me where you think Gibbs is going at the end of the chapter. I wonder how obvious I've made it...**

Sharp, white hot pain radiated through Tony's shoulder and chest. He could feel his pulse throbbing along his veins, each beat of his heart driving a piercing agony into his nervous system. "Damn," he said, covering the ragged hole in his lower shoulder with his hand, trying to stem the flow of blood that quickly covered his fingers leaving them wet and sticky.

The intensity of the pain surprised him; he had been shot before, but he didn't remember it hurting this much. He gasped around the sensation, forcing his eyes open to try and focus his brain on what was happening and stay grounded in the moment. The pain was trying to drag him down into it, pulling him into a deep dark hole where his mind could escape the current problem.

Someone dropped down beside him. The face swam around; he could see the lips moving, felt foreign fingers probing the wound invoking an involuntary yelp to emerge from his throat. The face grew blurrier as his vision darkened, his sight swept away on a black wave of torment. No matter how much he fought it, he found it impossible to maintain his grip on reality.

He heard a voice, someone was talking, shaking him, but he couldn't pay attention, couldn't find his way out of the burning and stabbing that had hijacked his body.

A sharp thwack on top of his head stopped everything. With the familiar slap, the world snapped back into place with a rushing force.

Gibbs' blue eyes were mere inches from his own. "Tony," he said anxiously, "Are you with me?"

DiNozzo sucked air into his protesting lungs, trying to gain control over his physical and emotional distress. Forgetting his injuries, he reached his bloody fingers up to the older man's face, leaving a crimson trail on the ex-marine's cheek. "You're dead," he said shakily, still unable to fully come to grips with what he was seeing. "You're dead. Everyone said so. I didn't want to believe them." He shook his head in disbelief. "My gut was right."

The older man smiled grimly. "I'm not dead, Tony. I'm here," he replied, guilt eating at him over the agent's obvious suffering. _I shouldn't have let this happen. _"But we're both going to be dead if we don't get out of here." He had to deal with the issue at hand, which meant he had to get them moving before someone else showed up. "Can you sit up?" he asked.

Tony tried to move, but jostling his left side once again left him wincing in agony. A strong hand slipped behind his arms and levered him up until he was sitting, breathing heavily and swallowing down rising bile. The former marine swiftly checked his back for an exit wound. Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief as he noticed the hole emerging beneath the man's shoulder blade. "The bullet's passed through," he announced tightly. "I'm going to help you up, now. You ready?" he asked. Tony nodded.

Gibbs grasped under the injured man's right arm and pulled DiNozzo up, steadying his young friend as he swayed dangerously. "I'm ok," the field agent stated through gritted teeth, finally finding his bearings. "I can walk."

With a firm grip on Tony's arm, Gibbs took a large part of the other man's weight as they slowly moved toward the back door. Tony's hand continued to grip the hole in his chest and he breathed in through his nose. They finally reached the door and moved out into the cool night air. Gibbs assessed his friend, who had closed his eyes and stumbled occasionally, but was still walking. "I have a car parked behind that other building," he tilted his head toward a small structure several hundred yards away.

"I can make it," Tony said firmly. "I'm not the one who's supposed to be a corpse."

Gibbs glanced over, trying to read the agent's face and understand the meaning behind his words. The pinched look he found revealed only the other man's pain, so Gibbs let it drop and continued to assist his partner toward the waiting car. Arriving at the old, non-descript vehicle, Gibbs helped ease Tony into the passenger side and leaned the seat back as far as possible. As DiNozzo shifted and tried to find a comfortable position his arm slipped down and he sucked in another sharp breath, closing his eyes and panting through the torture.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Gibbs watched his agent struggle to stay in control. Beads of sweat had popped out all over Tony's face, already plastering his hair to his head. The skin that had been tan and healthy only an hour before had turned a sickly, waxy white. Tony moved the bloody hand from his chest and wrapped it around his arm to try and prevent any more movement.

"Do you think the bullet hit a bone?" the older man asked.

"I…I don't know," Tony answered, strain apparent in his voice. "I've never been one to rush off to the emergency room, but I…..I think that might not be a bad idea right now." He leaned his head into the seat and clenched his jaw. Somewhere in his mind he wanted to talk to Gibbs, question him, find out where the man had been for the last few months. How had he just shown up in this warehouse, streaming across the floor like some damn avenging angel, right when Tony was about to get his brains blown out? But those questions would have to wait; he was afraid that if he opened his mouth instead of a stream of words it would be a stream of vomit. DiNozzo groaned involuntarily.

Gibbs slowly pulled out onto the abandoned street. Tony really did need to go to the hospital, but the Lead Agent knew right now there were complications to consider. "I don't think that's such a good idea this time, DiNozzo," he said softly. The blue-eyed man shoved back the guilt he felt at not driving Tony straight to the nearest emergency room.

"You don't?" Tony didn't turn his head, afraid the movement might unleash the nausea he was feeling, so he just shifted his eyes to look at his boss. Gibbs was always trying to force him to the hospital; maybe the older man had been replaced by a pod-person, or it was an evil twin, or someone else entirely who was wearing one of those creepy masks like in _Mission Impossible. _The real Gibbs would already have him halfway checked into the E.R. _Then again, the real Gibbs wouldn't have gone two months letting everyone think he was dead._

"It won't be long until the bodies in that warehouse are found, and I'm pretty sure they'll put together you were there. If the people involved in this find us, you won't make it back out of the hospital. No," he shook his head. "That's the first place they'll look for you."

"Then what are we gonna do?" Tony asked. His entire left side was burning; he felt like the princess and the pea since every pebble Gibbs ran over sent shards of pain shooting through him. He tried not to gasp and worked on keeping his breathing slow and steady.

"I'll think of something," Gibbs said somberly. He glanced over at the bright red stain that continued to flower across Tony's suit jacket. "I'll think of something."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The Secretary of the Navy took a sip of his drink and gazed at the photograph in his hand. He knew that Gibbs possessed a copy of the picture; they had all been so young and full of life. They were gone now, except for him. He regretted having to order Gibbs' death, but it was a necessary evil, and he had long ago grown accustomed to necessary evils. Elena had taught him that; you do what you have to in order to get what you want. She had loved him but she had also used him, and it was his mistakes from all those years ago that haunted him now. The picture itself didn't prove anything, but it was a tangible connection between him and Elena, a connection that needed to be buried just like she had been.

He knew he could become President. He had the background, the experiences, the right connections. All he had to do was keep this little piece of his life quiet, and he could be in the seat of ultimate power. He literally tingled at the thought; he was almost surprised by how much he wanted it. Other Presidents had hidden their secrets, buried their skeletons deep down so no one ever found them, and gone on to have great successes. He would do the same. Politics was a dangerous game, and if anything came to light he always had Dimitry positioned as a fall guy. Who would believe the Secretary of the Navy was involved in this kind of treachery?

His hand was steady as he took another drink. Nerves of steel had gotten him to where he was today, and they would see him through to the end, when he expected to be the last player left standing. Eliminating Gibbs was the first step, and he would take out anyone else who stood in his way, including Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Come on, Tony, wake up," Gibbs carefully touched Tony's good arm to try and rouse him. With bleary eyes the young man jerked awake, moving too quickly before remembering that was a bad idea. Groaning, the agent fell back on the seat. "I'm awake," he said. "I just can't move."

"Not an option," the old marine stated. "We gotta get you inside and stop that bleeding." The stain had continued to grow while Tony dozed fitfully. When Gibbs finally heaved the unsteady man out of the car, he noted more blood spreading across the seat where it had oozed from DiNozzo's back.

Tony stared around at the seedy hotel; it looked like something from a bad horror movie. The vacancy light flickered on and off, a thin layer of dirt covered all the doors and windows, paint peeled in strips alongside moss covered bricks. "Glad you went for the five-star digs," the agent observed dryly.

"This is what you get when you pay in cash and use a fake name," Gibbs shared. He had also paid the former marine working the front desk to alert them if anyone came looking for Tony. "We need to get inside." The ice-blue eyes darted around warily.

The interior of the room was just as pleasant as the exterior. Gibbs eased Tony down on the faded flower-covered comforter. A dim light cast shadows across the brown laminate desk and chest, a small, fat television sat in the corner, and a single light bulb shined out of the bathroom. The smell of mold clung to the air.

"Doing ok?" Gibbs asked, dropping a bag he had pulled from the trunk at the end of the bed. Even sitting down, DiNozzo was swaying slightly; his eyes kept slipping closed.

Tony was not doing ok. He wanted to fall over, but the thought of trying to place his body in a flat position promised to bring a great deal more pain. "I think I need to lie down," he answered, wondering if it was going to continue to be an option in a few more minutes. The grimy comforter would have normally been the last place he would choose to curl up, but right now it appeared extremely inviting. As he listed to the side, a rough hand caught him and sat him back up. "Gotta sleep," he mumbled.

"Not yet, DiNozzo," Gibbs said sternly. "I need to patch up that wound." The former gunnery sergeant started peeling Tony's jacket off.

"Easy, boss," Tony complained as his boss tugged the coat free then started working on the starched shirt. DiNozzo looked down at the blood covered fabric. "I don't think my dry-cleaner can get that out," he observed sadly. Gibbs couldn't suppress a grin. He had missed Tony's gallows humor. He had missed Tony, period. Over the last few months of hiding, Gibbs had convinced himself that he was alright with being alone, that it was better that way. But just talking to Tony for the last hour reminded him of why he had let the irreverent man get under his skin. There was no one else like DiNozzo.

The ex-marine surveyed the damage from the bullet. The projectile had entered in Tony's left upper chest and exited just beneath the shoulder blade. Even though the wound was a through-and-through, there was no telling what kind of internal damage might have occurred. The older agent knew from his time in the corps that a lung could have been knicked, nerves could have been damaged, and bones might have been chipped.

The one positive was that the bleeding seemed to have slowed, so the shot must have missed any major arteries leading to the heart. That was a minor miracle in and of itself; a few inches lower and Tony wouldn't be here with or without a hospital. Still, based on the blood that had poured from both openings, lots of veins and other important tissue must have been damaged. Gibbs ran a hand through his silver hair. He thought about calling Ducky, but continued to worry about getting anyone else involved. Right now, despite the pain DiNozzo was feeling, the wound didn't appear life-threatening. It would be best to clean it, bandage it, and immobilize Tony's arm until he decided what to do next.

"Don't move," he ordered. "I'm going to get some water and a towel."

Tony coughed harshly and took a deep breath which made his ribs very angry. "Not going anywhere," he responded weakly.

Gibbs returned with a bowl of warm water and a mostly clean towel from the bathroom. Tony had managed to stay upright, but it was taking a great deal of effort to not slump over. "I got you," the marine said, sitting on the bed and bracing the young man with his own body. Tony's head had been rolling forward, but his eyes snapped back up when Gibbs returned. He still couldn't totally accept the Lead Agent was there; it was like he was in a very vivid dream. _Blood loss is probably not helping, DiNozzo, _Tony chided himself._ Maybe I'm already in the hospital on some really good drugs and I'll wake up to find out this was like a bad episode of Dallas._ The agent stared hard at Gibbs, who was wringing out the warm cloth. "You really are here, aren't you?" he asked.

Gibbs gave him his typical closed smile. "I'm really here, DiNozzo. I'm not going anywhere." Tony nodded at the reassurance.

After wiping away the blood and cleaning off the wound, Gibbs grabbed the bag from the end of the bed with one hand and started rummaging around in it, while using his free hand to continue propping Tony up. He located some bandages, gauze, and tape, which he used to close up both wounds. "Who are you, Mary Poppins? What else are you going to pull out of that bag?" DiNozzo asked through half-closed eyes.

"More like a Boy Scout," Gibbs answered. "Be prepared. I've been on the run for two months; I thought some of this stuff might be useful." He glanced at the now bloody bowl of water, saturated towel, and bloody pile of clothes. It was hard to tell exactly how much blood the young man had lost, but it looked fairly significant. Gibbs' gut did not feel good about that.

The former Boy Scout found a t-shirt in the duffel bag and helped Tony slip it on, grimacing at the agent's grunts as his arm and shoulder moved to slide into the sleeve. Gibbs noticed that the process of dressing the wounds and putting on the shirt had once again left Tony breathing heavily and teetering slightly. Locating some extra bandages, he created a make-shift sling to keep Tony's arm from moving. "You wouldn't happen to have some Vicodin in that bag would you?" the green-eyed man asked with a dry cough followed by a humorless laugh. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and finished wrapping the bandages around Tony's shoulder, arm, and torso, tying them tightly at the end in some complicated knot that Tony could never have made himself. "Probably got you're knot-tying badge for that one," DiNozzo mumbled, grateful that his arm could no longer move and send shards of pain unexpectedly flying through him.

Gibbs eyed his handiwork. It might not be pretty, but it would do for now. Tony once more looked ready to keel over. As easily as he could, Gibbs pulled the blanket and sheets down on the thin mattress and then helped DiNozzo lay back, supporting him as he slowly leaned into the pillows. Tony's face contorted when both his back and chest protested the new position, but after a few seconds he settled into a spot that minimized the pain. Gibbs patted his friend's arm and walked over to peak out the plaid curtains into the nearly deserted parking lot.

"Why were you in that warehouse?" DiNozzo asked from behind him.

Gibbs closed his eyes. He had been hoping to avoid this conversation for a while. He should have known that a still conscious Tony wouldn't let it go.

Allowing the curtain to fall back into place, Gibbs pulled a hard desk chair over to the side of the bed, taking a seat so he could look Tony in the eye. He knew the younger man was about to get thoroughly pissed.

"I've been following Petrov and his goons for several weeks; I picked up on them after they started tailing you. They were using that warehouse as their base of operations so I've been staking it out most nights, trying to gather some intel," he explained succinctly. "I followed when I saw you go inside; I couldn't let you go in without back-up. Based on the way things turned out, I'm glad I did."

Tony listened and processed, a little slower than normal, but his brain was still with it enough to work out what Gibbs had left unsaid.

"How long have you been back in DC?" Tony asked in a tightly controlled voice. "Was there a reason you couldn't contact me? Someone been holding a gun to your head?"

Gibbs sighed. "I was never on that plane, Tony. Things went bad in Russia and I realized I was a target, so I made sure to disappear before the plane took off." He summarized what he had discovered while in Russia; concluding with the fact the SecNav had set him up to be killed so he couldn't reveal anything about the man's past. "No one knew I didn't get on the plane, so they all think I'm dead. I decided it was best to let them continue thinking that," he stated.

Tony laughed but it turned into a raspy cough. "Guess that includes me and the rest of team, huh," he remarked.

"This hasn't been a walk in the park, DiNozzo. It took me nearly a month to figure out a way back here without using my passport or credit cards. Fortunately I had some contacts in different locations who helped out. But trust me, bunking in the hold of a cargo ship was not one of the highlights of my life," the agent said defensively.

"Yeah, but after you made it back here you could have contacted us. You didn't have to let us keep on thinking you were dead!" Tony was allowing all the anger and frustration of the last few months to simmer back up.

"I was trying to protect you! I didn't want any of you to get hurt!" Gibbs shot back.

"That plan sure has worked out well," Tony replied quietly, coughing again.

"Dammit, DiNozzo, maybe if you hadn't decided to beat the shit out of Petrov he wouldn't want a piece of your ass now," Gibbs declared.

Tony's brow creased as realization dawned on him. He leaned forward toward his mentor, despite the crunching in his shoulder blade and tightness in his chest. "How did you know that? How did you know about Petrov unless….you were there! You were following me! How long have you been doing that? And you never said a word, nothing!" The agent coughed once more, wincing from all the movement. "You just watched as I walked around, slept in your basement…God, what did you watch?" Had Gibbs seen him get drunk and pass out with tears in his eyes? Seen him curse the world and punch wholes in the walls? Seen all the private mourning and grief that was meant for _him. _He reached up and grabbed his chest, uncontrollable pain flaming through him again. This was not possible; it couldn't be happening. Gibbs would never betray him this way.

"Tony," Gibbs said softly, putting a hand out to steady his friend. "Try to understand, I was doing what was best…."

DiNozzo shook the hand loose. "No!" he said angrily. "How could you do that to me? Do you have any idea what it's been like? _I went to your funeral! I helped your Dad box up your stuff! HOW COULD YOU LET ME GO THROUGH THAT? YOU KNEW WHAT THIS WOULD DO TO ME!" _Tony was shaking; he gasped for air. He couldn't remember ever being so angry at Gibbs in his entire life.

"You left me your house. I thought you..." DiNozzo abruptly stopped.

"What, Tony? What were you going to say?" Gibbs asked, blue eyes seeking for the answer from his suddenly quiet friend.

"Nothing. It was nothing. I guess I was wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Gibbs pressed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I..." Tony started, but another cough racked through him and he doubled over, fighting the excruciating pain in his shoulder and chest. He would have paid a million dollars for a morphine pump at that moment.

"Hey, DiNozzo," Gibbs slipped onto the bed next to him, holding him up. "Settle down." Small tremors coursed through the young man's frame as he breathed in little gasps. Pain filled green eyes looked up, before rolling back in his head as his body went limp and sagged onto the older man's chest.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The lights in the cheap motel room were turned off. Gibbs sat in a chair by the window watching his field agent sleep. Tony was curled up on his uninjured side; his breathing had evened out some over the last several hours, but he still moaned and coughed occasionally. The sleep did not appear restful.

It seemed that everything Gibbs had been trying to avoid was coming to pass. Because of his decisions Tony was hurt, both physically and emotionally. _Maybe I should have told him and the team what was happening. _He scrubbed his chin with his hands; it had been a hell of a two months. Tony coughed again, and when it didn't stop Gibbs went over to him, grabbing a bottle of water from the side table. The older man put his hand under DiNozzo's head, lifting it up slightly. "Here, drink this," he said. Tony blinked his eyes open. "What? Boss?" the earlier anger was somewhat forgotten, then again the injured man was barely aware of his surroundings. Tony continued coughing and gasping weakly.

"You need to drink something; you're going to get dehydrated," Gibbs repeated, keeping a firm hold on the back of his head. Tony managed to take a few sips before he started hacking again. Gibbs supported him until the attack passed.

"It's cold," DiNozzo said with a shiver, his eyes slipping closed. After gently settling Tony's head back on the pillow, the older agent pulled the blanket up around his friend's chest. He placed a hand on Tony's forehead, which felt warm and sticky. He prayed Tony wasn't getting a fever.

Resuming his vigil in the chair, Gibbs reviewed how he had gotten to this point. Early in his military career, he had completed a brief assignment in Russia on which Davenport had been lead; it was then the blue-eyed man had met Elena Sokolov. It was no secret she was former KGB, and obvious to anyone who paid attention that she and Davenport were lovers.

Katerina had looked just like her mother; it didn't take forensics for him to figure out the girl's relationship to Davenport. After admitting to Gibbs he was the girl's father, the SecNav asked the agent to go to Russia and speak to Elena's family, find out why the girl was in the US. He had played on Gibbs' sympathy as the father of a dead child himself.

But in Russia, Gibbs discovered the rest of the story.

Elena had not only been involved with Davenport romantically, she had been his contact to sell classified American documents to the Russian government; it was an act of treason for which the Secretary had been well-compensated. Elena had passed away mysteriously several years ago; Gibbs had spoken to her elderly mother who felt Davenport was involved with her death. The old woman had cried when she recalled begging her granddaughter not to follow the man to the United States, but the girl had refused, insisting she would make her father claim her. Through her tears, the old woman also said Katerina had taken documents left by Elena that proved Davenport was a traitor.

One of the reasons Gibbs had stayed hidden was so he could search for those documents without the SecNav knowing, but at this point he hadn't found any sign of them. He had searched Katerina's apartment, talked discreetly to some of her friends, but no one admitted to ever seeing the papers.

The Lead Agent believed Davenport had ordered Katerina, his own daughter, killed to prevent her from raising questions about his past. When Gibbs caught the case, the SecNav had to have him eliminated, too. Gibbs had been sent abroad to be murdered; Davenport realizing it would be much easier to kill him in Russia than on his native soil where an investigation would be conducted. With both Katerina and him gone, Davenport's secret would be safe. That is until Tony had refused to stop investigating. Gibbs shook his head at the young man's tenacity.

The Lead Agent walked over to check Tony again. He had kicked the dirty blanket off and twisted the sheet around his legs. The older man loosened the bedding, disentangling DiNozzo's gangly limbs before smoothing out the sheet and pulling the blanket back around him, hoping the warmth would stop Tony from shivering some. He didn't blame Tony for being angry at him; if the situation were reversed, he might have reacted the same way.

Gibbs paced over to the window.

Once back in DC, Gibbs had returned to his house to retrieve a metal box hidden in the basement for this kind of emergency. Keeping supplies ready for going on the run might have seemed paranoid, but in this line of work you never knew when you might need to take to ground. The box contained several fake ids, enough cash to get by for quite a while, and an unregistered Sig. Silently entering his own home, he had been surprised to find DiNozzo passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of vodka lying next to him in the floor. Gibbs had stood over the younger man and watched him sleep, just as he did tonight, and resisted the urge to wake his friend and tell him everything. After a few minutes Gibbs had retrieved his box and quietly walked away. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

He had stayed silent for the right reasons. The SecNav was powerful; he had the money and connections to bring any of them down, leaving no trace of what happened. There was the additional complication that he was DiNozzo's boss, and the Lead Agent didn't want any of this to ruin Tony's career, which would be easy for Davenport to do. Gibbs only advantage right now was the SecNav and his Russian associates believed him to be dead, so he could move around undisturbed. DiNozzo might not understand it, but Gibbs still felt he had made the right choice, he was sure of it.

It might not have been the easy choice, but it was for the best.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock. The federal agent grabbed his Sig and looked out the hole in the motel room door. The motel clerk stood outside shifting nervously.

Gibbs opened the door and let him in. "Hey, Gunney," the clerk said, grinning. "Those Russian guys you asked me to watch out for were just here. They had a picture of your friend over there," he indicated DiNozzo. "Wanted to know if I'd seen him. Said he might be hurt. Guess they were right about that."

"What did you tell them?" Gibbs' asked.

"Hey, us grunts got to stick together, right Gunney? I told them to fuck off, that I ain't seen nobody like that," he related fluently. "And that hundred bucks you spotted me didn't hurt none, neither."

"Are you sure they're gone?" the former marine questioned.

"I think so," the clerk said. "But I can't promise they won't come back. Seemed pretty set on finding him." The skinny man looked over at Tony, "Is he gonna be alright? He don't look too good."

"He'll be fine," Gibbs said firmly. "Thanks for not giving us up. We'll be moving on."

After the clerk left, Gibbs quickly gathered the few things he had brought in from the car. He grabbed the bloody clothes and towels and stuffed them in a plastic laundry bag to take with them, too. As he picked up Tony's suit jacket, the other man's cell phone clattered onto the floor. The federal agent scooped it up and turned it off, making sure they couldn't be tracked using it. He stuffed the phone in his own pocket.

Moving quickly, Gibbs made a trip to the car and threw the bags in the trunk. Returning to the room, he found an extra blanket in the closet. Finally, he went over to the bed and sat on the edge. "Tony," he said, firmly but quietly, not wanting to scare the fitfully sleeping man. "Tony, come on, we've got to move again."

DiNozzo slowly opened his eyes at the sound of Gibbs' voice. He took in the dirty motel room, felt the white hot pain in his shoulder, remembered why he was there, and decided to go back to sleep. His eyes heavily slid back shut.

"Oh, no," Gibbs said flatly, hauling him into a sitting position. "You can sleep in the car."

"I'm tired," Tony muttered. "Hurts."

"I know," the older man responded, wrapping the blanket around DiNozzo's shoulders. "I'm going to take you someplace safe where you can rest." In the last few minutes, Gibbs had decided where they would go. It wasn't ideal, but he was running out of options and he didn't think Tony could take having to continually move from place to place.

By the time Gibbs made it to the car he was practically carrying DiNozzo. Settling his friend into the seat, Tony didn't protest or cry out in pain, he didn't move or speak at all, but let his head roll to the side. Gibbs couldn't tell if he was sleeping or unconscious, however he did notice the hot pink flush that had risen on Tony's cheeks, a sure sign that a fever was building.

Gibbs pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed toward the interstate that would take them north and out of town. He had a sinking pit in his stomach as he headed in the direction he had chosen, since he still wasn't sure if it was the right place to go. The light of the moon followed him as he mulled over their situation and tried to figure out how to get not only himself, but now Tony, out of this mess.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: Wow! I loved reading all your comments on the last chapter. You are very wise readers, but I never doubted that for a moment!**

**Those who asked if Tony and Gibbs would finish their conversation, definitely yes! Their conversation is really the heart of the story, and comes to its resolution in the last chapter.** **For now, a lot more angst, hurt/comfort, whump, and crime to go….**

**Let me know your thoughts :)**

**TH**

Dimitry Petrov strode through the warehouse, the lumbering, thick-necked Ivan Medved following close behind him. Three of his men were dead; their bodies lay sprawled across the floor. _"Damn you, Agent DiNozzo!" _the Russian cursed. When he arrived at the building several hours earlier, he discovered two of his men dead and one dying. The dying man whispered that DiNozzo and an unknown person had been the shooters—he also boasted about hitting DiNozzo; the injured Russian operative died shortly after. The pool of blood left behind confirmed the NCIS agent had been shot and would not be in very good shape. Petrov absently touched his still swollen nose and wished he had been the one to shoot the irritating agent.

He and Ivan had canvassed all the local hospitals and motels but turned up nothing. They had gone to both DiNozzo's apartment and Gibbs' house, but there was no sign of him at either of those locations. He assigned several operatives to watch the sites in case DiNozzo returned. It was as if the injured NCIS agent had been swallowed up by the night. To further complicate things, they had no idea who the man with him might be.

Petrov whipped out a cell phone and hit the speed dial button for the Secretary of the Navy. "We haven't found any sign of him. What do you want me to do now?"

He could hear the heavy sigh through the phone. "Keep searching. Pay special attention to Dr. Mallard; if DiNozzo's hurt like you said before, he'll probably go to the ME for help. I'll have a couple of my people search for him electronically, then I'll pay Director Vance a visit at NCIS, see if I can get a feel for what's going on over there," he instructed. "We have no idea what DiNozzo knows or what he'll do with the information he has. We need to eliminate him quickly before anyone else gets involved. This needs to end now, Dimitry."

Petrov stared at the dead men and the puddle of blood in the floor. "I couldn't agree more," he fumed.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony tried to figure out why he was riding in a car in the middle of the night. Lights flashed by every few seconds; he attempted to catch the names on the green and white road signs that appeared and disappeared through the window, but the words were too blurry. He swallowed around a huge lump in his throat and forced down the taste of bile.

"You awake?" _Gibbs. Alive. Didn't tell me and I'm really pissed. Got it. Oh yeah, and I got shot. _With his memory switched back on, he returned to work figuring out where they were going. Watching the flashing road signs was a nice distraction from his aching body. Before he could reply to his boss, the lump in his throat moved upward….

"Stop the car," he urged.

Gibbs glanced over, noting the panicked expression on the pale, sweaty face. He pulled into a wide spot on the side of the road, unbuckled his seat belt and ran to the other side of the car. Tony had already managed to unbuckle himself and was trying to push open the door. "Let me help," Gibbs grasped Tony and held him half out of the car while the younger man emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Tony's free hand clutched Gibbs' arm to prevent him from sliding the rest of the way out the door.

"Doing better?" the Lead Agent asked.

"Yeah…..yeah," Tony struggled to say. The hand still clutching onto Gibbs' was shaking noticeably. The older man helped him back into the seat then found the bottle of water. Tony drank as much as he could before starting to feel sick again. "Enough," he whispered.

Gibbs checked the field agent's temperature with the back of his hand. "You're pretty hot," he said.

"That's what all the girls tell me," DiNozzo replied sarcastically.

"Seriously, how are you feeling?" the blue-eyed man asked with concern.

"I'm fine," Tony responded. He really felt like hell; everything hurt, from his toes to the tips of his hair. His chest and back were on fire, and now he had cold shivers running up and down the length of his body. But he still didn't want to talk to Gibbs. He didn't feel capable of thinking about what his boss had done. In a way, he felt Gibbs had completely betrayed him. Being angry at the older man was a fairly foreign feeling for him; it left him unsure of how to act.

He did have one question. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Some place safe," Gibbs replied. "We'll be there in about an hour."

Tony could feel his eyes going closed again. "Do you have a plan?"

Gibbs paused. "I'm working on it," he answered, blue eyes sliding over to take in the still form. "Why? Don't you trust me anymore?" Before this fiasco, the older agent would have never doubted the answer. Right now, he wasn't so sure he wanted to hear it.

DiNozzo didn't reply. He had trusted Gibbs for so long, and had never once questioned his faith in the other man. He still trusted him with his life. But that didn't mean he wasn't tired of the secrets. It was way past time for Gibbs to stop trying to do everything on his own.

"You got it backwards, boss. I've always trusted you; the question is why don't you trust me?" he asked bitterly.

Gibbs glanced over sharply, taken aback by the question. Headlights from passing cars created a strobe effect on Tony's sickly face. The slitted green eyes cut straight through him. He really didn't know what to say. Did Tony actually think he didn't trust him? That he didn't believe in him? They had been through too much for the younger agent to think that now.

"I trust you, Tony. Why would you think I don't?" his voice was husky, soft, a sound not often associated with the marine.

Tony shook his head and let his weary eyes close. He was so exhausted. "Because every time something important happens, you never tell me anything. It's like a never-ending test where I always have to figure it out on my own. You never ask me for help, or get me to watch your six. So the fact is boss, _you _don't trust _me_." His breathing slowed, his tone grew sad, heavy. "You don't trust _anybody,"_ he added.

"Tony," Gibbs said quietly. "It's not like that." There was no reply. Tony looked to be asleep, but the Lead Agent suspected DiNozzo just didn't want to talk to him anymore. He chose not to break the silence.

Gibbs realized he and DiNozzo were both fairly dysfunctional people, but he always thought their friendship was solid. Maybe that was because Tony never questioned him; just took what he did at face value. Gibbs wasn't sure he deserved that kind of faith; he certainly hadn't asked for it. But perhaps he had taken it for granted. As he drove on into the early morning, Tony's words played over and over. _You don't trust me. You don't trust anybody. _The hard truth was, Tony might be right.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Gibbs sat in the driveway watching the weak rays of the sun break over the horizon. Tony was still asleep, but the gathering light revealed just how pale and grey his skin had turned. The Lead Agent had to muster his resolve and get this over with quickly. The problem was he couldn't figure out exactly how. Taking action was never an issue for the former marine, but this was different. When he decided to let everyone believe he had died, it never occurred to him how difficult it would be to come back to life.

Taking a breath, Gibbs elected to play it by ear. Sitting on his ass in the driveway like a sixteen year old scared of his first date was not getting him anywhere. Stepping out of the car, he once again opened the passenger door and ducked in to wake his partner. "We're here, Tony. Time to get up," he announced, giving DiNozzo a light shake.

Tony rolled his head toward him. "Where's here?" he asked drowsily.

"Stillwater," Gibbs replied. "We're at Jack's place."

"Oh," Tony replied with surprise. That was the last place he would have guessed.

The field agent managed to place his feet on the ground and used his good arm to pull himself out of the car. Before he even straightened his body fully, his knees buckled and he fell back into the door frame, grunting loudly.

"Hey, take it easy," Gibbs steadied him for a few minutes. "Don't pass out on me."

Tony gave him an incredulous look. "Do I even have to say it?" he asked.

Gibbs grinned. "If it's true that DiNozzo's don't pass out, I have quite a few reasons to believe you might not be a DiNozzo."

"My Dad would probably agree with you," Tony grumbled, while Gibbs placed Tony's arm around his neck and started leading him toward the back door of the house. By the time they reached the stoop DiNozzo was nearly dead weight. Every few seconds his head rolled forward before he jerked it upright. "S…sorry…boss," Tony mumbled, his head popping up again.

Gibbs thinned his lips and took a calming breath through his nose, then reached up and knocked.

He could hear movement from inside; he knew his father would be awake already. Chickens had a hard time getting up earlier than Jackson Gibbs. "Jared Davis, if you've thrown my newspaper on top of the roof again I'm going to have the Times start paying me for the service," the old man groused as he opened the door.

There were no words to describe the look on Jackson Gibbs' face as he stood in his back door and saw his dead son standing in front of him. "Dear Lord," he said quietly. "Is that really you, son?" He shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. He had lived a long life and experienced many things, but this was one that he could have never imagined. It didn't matter that his son was nearing retirement age himself, at that moment Jackson saw his child, _his boy,_ who had been lost to him forever, once again a living, breathing part of his life. He could feel his old heart skipping in his chest. "This isn't possible."

The Lead Agent smiled slightly. "Hi, Dad," he said. _So much for eloquence._

Tony picked that moment to lose his battle with consciousness and pitch forward. "A little help here," Gibbs asked, trying to keep hold on the injured man's arm and prevent him from hitting the ground. Rousing from his shocked stupor, Jackson hurried over and lifted Tony's other side, raising the younger man into a semblance of standing. "What happened?" the older Gibbs asked.

"I'll tell you in a minute; just help me get him inside." DiNozzo wasn't getting any lighter.

After a brief struggle they finally deposited Tony on the bed in the downstairs spare bedroom. Gibbs didn't like the labored sound of his agent's breathing and the sweat on his face and clothes pointed to an elevated temperature. "You got a thermometer?" he asked.

Jackson hesitated, staring at his son, still barely believing the man was standing there. "Please, Dad," Gibbs' said. "I promise I'll tell you everything. Just let me help Tony first."

There was a tone of fear in his son's voice; Jackson nodded. The story behind this was sure to be a long one; it was best to tend to Tony before getting into it. Biting down the thousand and one questions that ran through his mind, he instead said, "I'll be right back." He glanced over his shoulder at his son one more time before quickly leaving the room.

By the time Jack returned, Gibbs had removed Tony's shirt and situated him fully on the bed. The bandages he had placed on DiNozzo's bullet wounds were saturated a bright red. No wonder Tony couldn't stay awake; the blood loss alone was enough to leave him unconscious.

"For heaven's sake, Tony, what have you gotten yourself into?" Jackson mumbled, handing his son a first aid kit and leaning over to push Tony's sweaty hair out of his face. "He's burning up."

"Yeah, I know," Gibbs replied, voice laced with worry. "He was shot yesterday evening; some dangerous people are after him and I'm afraid to take him to the hospital," he summarized. "I'm sorry I had to bring you into this, but I didn't know where else to go. I hope since they all think I'm dead nobody will come looking here."

Jackson rummaged in the now open bag and found the thermometer. Disbelievingly, he looked at his son. "Leroy, sometimes I question if I taught you anything. You're in trouble, why wouldn't you come here?" he asked.

"So you won't be the next one to get hurt, Dad. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand I'm trying to protect them?" he exclaimed, clearly frustrated.

The older man chuckled and looked at Tony. "I guess this one's already chewed off a piece of your ass. I knew I liked the boy," he said. Choosing to avoid interrogating his son for now, he turned to DiNozzo and patted his cheek. "Tony, it's Jack. Can you hear me?" he coaxed.

Gibbs remembered the smooth, comforting voice from his own days as a sick child. A faint smile touched his lips. His dad always had a way with dogs, babies, and sick children. Oh, and pretty girls. He wasn't sure where DiNozzo fit on that list, but right now his father was treating Tony like a fragile piece of china. "Leroy, go get me a bowl of cool water and some towels," Jackson directed. "Make that a lot of towels."

It didn't take long for old roles to slip in place like a comfortable pair of shoes. Gibbs smiled once more and did as he was told.

Jackson tapped Tony's cheek again. "Come on, Tony. I need you to do something for me," he urged gently.

DiNozzo barely opened his eyes. "Jack?" he said hoarsely. "How?"

"Don't worry about how, Tony. I need to take your temperature, ok?" he asked.

"Alright," Tony answered. He wasn't really sure what was happening. How had he got to Jack's place? Why did he feel so sick? The next thing he was aware of a cold towel was on his face; Gibbs' voice sounded from a long way off. Someone took the thermometer away. "Boss?" he croaked. Something sharp and painful jabbed inside his shoulder and he winced.

"Just relax, Tony. Everything's ok, we're taking care of it," his boss said.

"Good," Tony said thickly. It was getting hard to breathe; he couldn't stay awake. "You guys….take care of it. I'll….sleep," his voice trailed off as he drifted away again.

Jackson continued to towel off the younger man's face. "His temp's 102.1. Not dangerously high, but not good either. I think he might be going into shock from the blood loss. Saw it happen to a lot of boys when I was in Korea," the older man explained.

"I've seen it too, Dad," Gibbs agreed, not forgetting his own time in combat. "He's going to have to go to the hospital."

The older Gibbs stood. "Maybe not; let me make a call. I might have just what you need to solve your problem." Jackson placed a hand on his boy's shoulder, then suddenly wrapped him in a large hug and stroked him on the back of the head. Gibbs could see the strong man's eyes were watery; he was holding back tears. "I'm glad you're back, son," Jackson choked out, before walking into the other room.

The Lead Agent watched his father go. The old man never ceased to amaze him.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Ducky exited the elevator and stepped into the bullpen. "Would either of you two know where I might find Anthony? I need to review some autopsy results with him, and we had planned on doing it this morning," the ME asked, looking between McGee and Ziva.

"He hasn't made it in yet," McGee explained. "We've been trying his cell but I think it's turned off."

"Well, that's unusual," Dr. Mallard said thoughtfully. "No word from him at all? When was the last time you saw him?"

McGee cleared his throat nervously. Ziva stood and approached the doctor. "Here, yesterday. Tony and McGee had a slight…disagreement. McGee suggested Tony might consider cleaning out Gibbs' desk. Tony did not respond well to the idea," she said.

"I see," Ducky nodded and smiled at Tim. "A suggestion that is not out of line, Timothy, considering the amount of time that has passed. So he was upset when he left?" the ME inquired.

"Yes," Ziva continued. "McGee wanted to go after him, but I felt Tony needed some time to be alone. I never imagined he would not return to work today."

"I'm sure you didn't, Ziva," Ducky agreed. "Perhaps someone should go see if they can find Anthony?"

"Not a bad idea," Vance interjected, entering the bullpen. "I need DiNozzo here now! The SecNav is on his way, and I really am not in the mood to explain that my Lead Agent is missing!"

The team members looked at each other. Ziva stared at her hands and McGee chewed his lip.

"That means for the two of you to start doing something now!" Vance yelled.

"I will check Gibbs' house and Tony's apartment," Ziva said, pulling on her coat.

"I'll trace his last cell phone use and any text messages or e-mails," McGee chimed out, heading behind his desk.

Ducky walked over to stand next to the Director. "You're worried, aren't you," the Scotsman burred softly.

"It's DiNozzo, Dr. Mallard. Damn right I'm worried," he replied.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Are you sure this isn't my patient, Jackson? He certainly looks like hell," the old voice awakened Gibbs from where he had dozed off in a chair. Opening his blue eyes, he saw a small elderly man with a cane work his way through the room toward the bed.

"No, Doc, Leroy actually looks mighty good for a dead man. But he probably could do with a few more hours sleep," Jackson grinned. "You need to take a look at this fella right over here."

Gibbs made eye contact with his father, mouthed _Dr. Carter?_ His Dad nodded at the name. The old doctor had treated Gibbs when he was a child; the man had to at least be in his eighties. The elderly physician removed a stethoscope from his medical bag and pulled the sheets down, starting an examination of Tony who remained unconscious, but moaned slightly at the gentle touch. "I'll be as quick as possible, my boy," he said easily, pausing as Tony coughed. "Could you sit him up so I can listen to his lungs and check the wound on his back?"

Gibbs and Jackson did as requested, supporting Tony until the doctor was finished and they eased him back to the bed. The doctor then took a blood pressure reading and clucked at the results. He glanced up through his thick glasses at the two worried men, "His pulse is fast and weak, and his blood pressure is low; definitely signs he needs a blood transfusion to prevent further shock. I'd also like to get some x-rays of that wound. You say you want to avoid the hospital?"

"These boys are federal agents," Jackson explained. "They need to be off the grid for awhile."

The old doctor laughed, "Reminds me of my days in World War II. Let's get him over to the clinic; I have the supplies and equipment over there to get him fixed up." The wrinkled man turned to face Gibbs. "Then I plan on dealing with you, young man." Gibbs hadn't been called "young man" in so long the idea almost made him laugh.

It took a little time to maneuver the barely conscious and barely cooperative DiNozzo into the small, hometown clinic, but eventually he was under cool sheets in an examination room. Occasionally he opened his eyes, looked around, found Gibbs and Jack, mumbled something unintelligible, then fell back to sleep. Dr. Carter introduced them to his nurse, Betsy, who appeared to be a very spry sixty-year old. The still attractive woman smiled sweetly at Jackson, who grinned back appreciatively. "We really are grateful for all this, Bets," the elder Gibbs told her, taking her hand.

"It's no trouble for you, Jackson," she replied while she gave his hand a squeeze. The younger Gibbs rolled his eyes at his father's not so subtle flirtation.

"Could we get to work here?" Dr. Carter asked. He nodded his head at Gibbs and Jackson. "You two can wait in my office. I'll be over to get you in a few minutes."

Jackson waited until Gibbs had settled himself into a leather chair before starting with the questions. "So what happened?" he asked. "Why haven't we heard from you in all this time?"

Gibbs sighed and launched into the story. Jackson furrowed his brow as he listened, concern knitting his eyes together. "So let me get this straight, if Tony hadn't been shot, you still wouldn't have told anyone you're alive. You'd still be out there on your own," he said.

"You sound just like DiNozzo. I'm trying to keep everyone safe and I stand by my decision. I wouldn't have done it any differently," he defended.

"Son, I'm so happy to see you alive that I might just let you say something that stupid and get away with it. But I saw how those friends of yours have suffered, hell, I mourned right along with them. And that boy in there has borne the brunt of it all. I know your intentions have been good, Leroy, but in my opinion you've been selfish and pig-headed. Maybe you'll realize that soon."

Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it. Now was not the time or place. It was more important to get Tony taken care of and settle on what to do next. "I'm going to find some coffee," he said instead, heading out into the lobby.

"Too stubborn for your own damn good," Jackson muttered, crossing his arms. Some things never changed.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony sensed someone warm and soft. He knew it was a woman (it didn't take a sixth sense to realize that) and she smelled like flowers, maybe gardenias. She was humming something soothing and sweet; he decided not to open his eyes while she removed the blood pressure cuff, then placed a cold stethoscope on his chest. She held a cool hand to his forehead and cheek, using her own skin to take his temperature. It reminded him of being a child.

He finally opened his eyes so he could see her. She was tall and thin, grey hair in a sleek bun, wearing white and pink nursing scrubs. Her eyes were brown and kind. She smiled when she noticed he was awake.

"Well, hello there. Nice to finally get a chance to talk to you. I'm Betsy," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "Jackson and Leroy brought you in for Doctor Carter to take a look at you. Guess you got yourself in a little bit of trouble, hmmm?" she asked.

"Something like that," he answered dryly. She brought him a glass of water and held it while he drank. "Not too much," she said. "The IV's will take care of your fluids for now." There were two needles pinching Tony's arms; one contained blood, the other saline and whatever else they were giving him. Tony suspected some painkillers were involved since he didn't feel nearly as much agony as the last time he woke up. Actually he didn't feel half-bad if he ignored the light-headed, floating sensation that accompanied blood loss and narcotics. He smiled and considered telling her she smelled nice, but decided they hadn't known each other long enough.

"Do you want me to go get the Gibbs boys for you? They're both pretty worried," she inquired.

"Would you mind to wait a few minutes?" he asked. "I'd like to…..rest a little while longer."

"Sure, honey," she answered. Older women always considered helpless younger men to be a "honey" or a "sweetie." Tony thought it was endearing. "I'll hold 'em off for a few more minutes. You just close your eyes for a bit."

"Thanks," Tony said. Instead of closing his eyes he stared at the white wall. He should be happy; Gibbs was alive and everything would eventually go back to normal. But he just couldn't let it go; he couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment and deception that had burrowed its way inside him. He hated being mad at Gibbs; it was bad enough that the man had been dead for months, but now Tony couldn't turn to him because of his own damn pride. No matter how much he tried not to, it was impossible for him not to contrast Gibbs with his own father. Normally there was no comparison, but right now Tony just felt tired and confused. Memories of the Senior DiNozzo were close to the surface, memories that Tony usually did an excellent job of ignoring or pushing away. But today they wouldn't leave him alone; they chased him like a bully on the playground that wouldn't go away.

As his mind drifted, Tony settled on an event he had long ago filed under "painful—do not open."

_"Hey, DiNozzo, I saw your Dad yesterday; he was having dinner with a couple of my father's friends in town. He coming up to see you?" the brown-haired boy asked._

_Tony wasn't sure how to reply. His Dad was in town? Why hadn't he called? Tony had been at the Rhode Island Military Academy for a few months. His thirteenth birthday had been last week; he'd received a card and some cash from his father, but no visit and no phone call._

_Tony thought about his friend's comments for hours. He knew when his father sent him to military school the man had been frustrated by Tony's actions, attitude, and the responsibility of trying to raise an adolescent boy while wining and dining his way across several continents. Tony hadn't been happy about moving here, but he'd tried to understand._

_After the question became too much, he finally went to a phone and called his father's latest number. As usual, the phone wasn't answered by his father, but by a service. _

_"I'm trying to get in touch with my Dad," he explained to the disembodied voice on the end of the line. "I really need to talk to him."_

_"Let me see, Tony," the voice said. "It looks like your father is staying with some friends in Rhode Island while he conducts some business meetings. He's been there…..oh, about two weeks now. I'm surprised you haven't seen him."_

_"Me, too," Tony thought. "Can you have him call me, please?" Tony requested. He despised asking some stranger to get in touch with his father for him._

_"Of course," the voice replied. "I'll give your father the message as soon as possible."_

_"Thanks," Tony said, hanging up. His Dad had been in Rhode Island for two weeks, while Tony turned thirteen alone. After a day passed with no return call, the boy realized he wouldn't be hearing from his father. It was a bitter blow; he knew his Dad had a hard time dealing with him, but he had never truly accepted just how little his father really loved him. He wanted to curl up somewhere and cry, but there was no privacy for such things at a boarding school. Instead, Tony got into a fight with another kid to blow off steam, and ended up in detention and working in the kitchen for a week. He didn't see the older DiNozzo again for six months. By then, he had convinced himself he didn't care anymore. And he'd sworn to himself that he never would again._

Gibbs walked into the exam room sipping a cup of coffee. Tony was muttering something drowsily. Gibbs could make out the words _stay, don't go, why didn't you call._ Trying not to disturb the younger man, he brushed a matted patch of sweaty hair back off his face. DiNozzo's green eyes fluttered open.

"How's it going?" the ex-marine asked, dropping his hand to his side.

"I'm good," Tony replied. Even though the blood and fluids had helped bring some color back to his skin, the bright shine of fever still burned in his eyes.

The awkwardness between them was palpable. Tony wished he could explain to Gibbs how he was feeling, how hard it had been to basically be abandoned by his father and how the current situation, though different, still reminded him so much of the past. His Dad had never been outright abusive, just neglectful; more often than not Tony felt like an old coat that was forgotten in the closet.

Where his father had ignored him and left him behind, Gibbs had always paid attention and been there no matter what. They were night and day. But now, Tony was having a difficult time separating them. He knew it was stupid and a result of his own issues. Yet, rationalizing Gibbs' absence was very, very hard for him.

"You're looking better," the ex-marine observed. "It's probably time to talk about what we need to do now." The older man hesitated; Tony could tell he wasn't going to like what was coming next. "I'm going to head back to DC; try to straighten things out with the SecNav."

"That would be a really bad idea," Tony stated firmly, unable to hide his displeasure. "You can't exactly straighten things out with a murderer." Despite the frustration he felt at Gibbs, the idea of the agent disappearing again overwhelmed him. It mixed in with the long-suppressed memories of his father, the horrendous last two months, the possibility that now Gibbs was back he could do something rash and _really _die.

"He's not going anywhere, are you Leroy?" Jackson commented, walking into the room and noting the faint look of panic on Tony's face. "I won't let him." He placed a comforting hand on DiNozzo's shoulder. Tony felt a strange sense of warmth and security spread through him.

"We'll discuss it back at the house," Gibbs replied with annoyance. These two were not going to stop him from doing what needed to be done. "You think you can find the Doc and get him to cut Tony loose?"

"Sure, I'll find him," the elder Gibbs said, moving toward the door. "Just remember, Leroy, I mean it. You aren't going anywhere."

When Gibbs didn't reply, Tony knew from experience they were heading for all kinds of trouble. DiNozzo leveled a steady stare at his boss.

"Don't, Tony. Not now." His voice held a hint of warning. Despite the glint of fight in the green eyes, Gibbs was more concerned about the dark circles and haggard lines that were etched on his agent's face. He didn't want to take Tony on while he was in this kind of condition. DiNozzo needed to rest, not battle it out with him; Gibbs wasn't sure if the disagreement could be avoided.

"I'm not going to let you do this again, boss," Tony said with determination. Inside, though, DiNozzo knew if it came down to it, he'd be on the losing end of the conflict. Once Leroy Jethro Gibbs decided something it was almost impossible to change his mind. But Tony knew if he had any hope of keeping Gibbs safe, he would have to try.

And if Gibbs decided to leave anyway, Tony didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: This chapter is huge. I apologize, it just grew out of control. I'm not going to say much else, just read and tell me what you think (but know that in the end, all will be well).**

**Oh, and thanks so much for the support! You guys are the nicest people in the world! I really appreciate all the kind words you have sent me!**

**TH**

Secretary of the Navy Philip Davenport narrowed his eyes, steeled his expression and stepped off the elevator to meet NCIS Director Vance. "How are you, Leon?" he asked smoothly. "I'm assuming things are going well?"

"Things" were not going well. The team had found no sign of DiNozzo; it was as if he had fallen off the edge of the earth. Vance didn't know if he should be highly pissed off or in a state of desperate worry. With Tony, either response could end up being appropriate. Either the man had gone on an epic bender that he had yet to recover from, or something extremely bad had happened to the newly minted Lead Agent. Whichever turned out to be the case; now was not the time for a visit from the SecNav. They had other matters to attend to than playing tour guide. But it wasn't like the Director could say any of that. Instead, he said, "How would you like to come up to my office?"

Davenport smiled, a reptilian expression that never came close to touching his dark eyes. "All in time, Leon. First I'd like to meet the Major Crimes Response Team. I read so much about their exploits that I'd like to put some faces with the names in the reports," he said blandly.

Vance cleared his throat. "A few of our agents are out in the field right now, and I'm afraid they won't be back for awhile. This is Special Agent Timothy McGee, he does a great deal of our electronic investigating," the Director introduced McGee, who was alternately typing madly and staring intently at something on his computer screen.

"McGee!" the Director repeated loudly, trying to get the younger man's attention.

"What? Oh, Director Vance and," Tim stood up, eyes widening into small circles. "And the Secretary of the Navy! Hello, Sir. I apologize, you just caught me in the middle of something…." he stammered.

Daveport smiled again, "Not a problem, Agent McGee. It's refreshing to see someone so taken with his work." He paused. "I was hoping to spend some time with your new Lead Agent DiNozzo. I take it he is one of those out in the field?"

Tim watched Vance, not sure how the Director would respond. "Yes, I apologize. He and Agent David are both out right now. You did meet the two of them once before, during the Domino incident, but I think your attention was elsewhere at the time. How would you like to meet some of the other team members? Our forensic scientist and medical examiner are both here at the moment," he led the SecNav back toward the elevator.

McGee heaved a sigh of relief, sitting back down at his computer terminal. He had logged into Tony's system and discovered a string of searches the agent conducted right before leaving the previous night. "Who is Dimitry Petrov?" McGee asked out loud, starting his own search of the man Tony had been looking up the evening before.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Gibbs and Jackson returned to the older man's house with Tony, who was under strict instructions from Dr. Carter to stay in bed, continue taking antibiotics and painkillers, and make an appointment with a specialist to check his shoulder for a possibly fractured scapula. His chest was now swathed tightly and his arm held in place by a dark blue sling. They were to go to the emergency room or call the elderly doctor immediately if his temperature wasn't back to normal by the next day or if he showed any other signs of infection. Tension was thick between the two older men as they helped DiNozzo into the spare bedroom.

Jackson pulled a blanket over Tony and Gibbs stuffed several pillows behind his head, neither speaking. The younger man's green eyes darted between the father and son, waiting for the axe to fall. Finally, Jackson waded in. "You are not seriously thinking about going back to DC on your own, are you?" he asked.

The Lead Agent's blue eyes met Tony's. _You don't trust me. You don't trust anyone. _The words still echoed in Gibbs' head. It didn't matter if Tony thought he trusted him. What mattered was that he protected the people he cared about. He hadn't done that for Shannon and Kelly, and he'd be damned if he would let it happen again. He would protect Tony whether DiNozzo wanted him to or not, and that meant he couldn't stay here, he had to go back to Washington. If nothing else, his reappearance could divert the SecNav's attention from Tony.

Despite the doctor's ministrations, Tony still felt ready to collapse from exhaustion, but he pushed that away for now. He held his mouth in a grim line and watched for his boss to make a decision. The decision, however, had already been made.

"This is all because of me, Dad," Gibbs said. "I have to take care of it before anyone else gets hurt. It's my responsibility, no one else's."

"Of all the damn, fool, self-destructive…" Jackson started.

"We could call the team and get their help," Tony suggested.

"No, Tony." Gibbs ordered immediately. "That is the last thing we'll do. The whole point is to prevent them from getting involved, not lead them into harm's way."

"Maybe we should let them decide what they want to do," he continued undeterred. Jackson watched as Tony refused to back down. He noticed the young man's breathing had picked up pace a little, and his skin was a little more sallow, but that did not stop the field agent from confronting his son.

"No, Tony. You getting injured is bad enough. I'm going to take care of this. Dad will make sure you're ok," Gibbs stated, leaving no room for discussion.

"Son, I think you should listen to Tony and call your team…" Jackson began.

"No, Dad!" Gibbs cut him off. "I will take care of this on my own, in my own way!"

Tony glanced at Jackson. "Could you leave us alone for a few minutes?" he asked quietly. Jack wasn't sure that was a good idea, but decided to respect the fact that DiNozzo had more recent experience dealing with a raging Leroy than he did.

"I'll go to the pharmacy and get these prescriptions filled," he said. Letting his own blue eyes meet those of his irritated son's, he added, "I expect you to be here when I get back. I haven't had a chance to say my piece yet." Gibbs folded his arms but did not reply.

"If you leave I'll just follow you," Tony informed the Lead Agent after Jackson left. Maybe if he could convince Gibbs he would risk his own safety it would change the stubborn man's mind.

"DiNozzo, you can barely haul yourself out of bed right now. You'd be flat on your ass before you could take two steps. I seriously doubt you'll be following me," Gibbs countered. It was best for Tony not to forget the second "B" was for bastard.

"I was right, then," DiNozzo said tightly.

"Right about what, Tony? Will you quit talking in these cryptic statements and just come out and say what you mean?" Gibbs wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the stress of the last few months had left him frayed and ragged, subtracting from his already less than sensitive demeanor.

"That you don't really care about me!" Tony finally shouted, lifting himself off the bed. He winced at the pain the movement caused. He hadn't meant to say it, but everything was bearing down on him. He didn't know if he should be angry, or hurt, or scared shitless that Gibbs was on some crusade that no one could stop before it ended in his death. "If you cared, you'd listen to me! You wouldn't just take off and leave when I'm asking you not to do this!"

The silver-haired man folded his arms. "You don't understand, Tony."

DiNozzo took a deep breath and tried to avoid the mental meltdown he felt clawing at his nerves. He had stood up to Gibbs before, but somehow this felt different.

"Just don't go, ok?" Tony tried to keep his voice steady, to not sound like he was whining or begging. "Stay here and we'll figure something out, but don't walk out again. It's just like when you went to Mexico, when you nearly drowned with Maddie, and the last two months when you snuck around but didn't have the balls to tell me you were alive. It's just like something my Dad would do!"

"I am not your father, Tony!" Gibbs yelled. The words hung in the air.

Tony looked shaken, stunned, wounded. "I know that," he said softly. He felt like he had just been punched in the gut.

Gibbs wished he could take the sentence back, erase it, and make it go away. The sentence had flown out of his mouth without any cognitive thought behind it. In that careless moment, he knew he had probably said the one thing that would hurt Tony more than anything else; more than any bullet could ever harm him. He didn't mean it the way it sounded, but the words had been spoken, and nothing could remove them now. And he didn't have time to explain himself.

He looked DiNozzo dead in his shocked green eyes. There was no turning back. "I'm going. Stay here with Dad, don't try to find me, and take your meds," he instructed, before turning and walking stiffly toward the door.

Boiling hot anger surged through Tony's veins. Without thinking, he swung his feet off the bed, forced his injured shoulder up despite its protests, and headed after Gibbs. "Boss, stop. You don't have to go," he called, his tone a mixture of fury and desperation. After a few feet, the light-headed feeling was nearly incapacitating. _Damn blood loss and painkillers._ Tony grabbed the doorframe for support. "You don't have to be the martyr this time, Gibbs. We can find another way." He had meant to sound pissed, but his voice caught on the words.

The marine paused, fearing that if he turned around to see Tony needing his help, instead of doing what he had to do he would march DiNozzo back to bed, tuck him in, and stay there with Jackson until the younger man was fully recovered.

But making Tony soup and taking his temperature wasn't the answer this time. The SecNav's pursuit of DiNozzo had to stop, and only he could make that happen. If it meant Tony ended up hating him, so be it, as long as the younger man was safe and unharmed and alive. _I am not your father._ He had said the words, but he didn't mean them like Tony thought. In his heart he had taken on that role a long time ago, and he wouldn't let Tony die or suffer any more at his expense. It was his sacrifice to make.

One day, if Tony became a father himself, he might understand.

"Come on, Gibbs….stop!" Tony yelled. He let go of the doorframe and stumbled his way to the middle of the living room, trying to get to the ex-marine before he actually left the house. He clutched his chest as the wound throbbed, his head spun, his legs felt weak. "Please boss, don't go back there alone! Don't put me through this again!"

For a minute, the former marine could hear Kelly's voice, begging him not to leave on that last assignment, the last time he ever saw her alive. Gibbs slowed his pace, but did not turn around; instead he shut the front door with a resounding click.

Tony could not believe this was happening. He could not believe Gibbs had just walked away. His anger dissipated, replaced by cold, stark fear. He wanted to run after him, tackle him to the ground, and force him to listen. Tony's body, however, refused to cooperate. He reached out for a small table to steady himself, but instead lurched forward sending the lamp and several pictures clattering to the ground. In an instant the hard floor rushed up to meet him as his vision blackened. The last thought he had before darkness closed in was that Gibbs might never come back this time.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The SecNav watched the young Goth dance between the machines in her lab, happily running evidence samples as her black pigtails bobbed in time with the excruciatingly loud music. His assistants had discovered she had been running searches on him, Elena, and Katerina. Obviously, DiNozzo had told her something before he disappeared; the question was, how much did she know?

"Would you like to go in?" Director Vance asked, breaking his reverie.

"Of course," Davenport replied. The Director cleared his throat to announce their presence; Abby stopped dancing as she turned around to see them.

"Director," she said in way of greeting.

"Hello, Abby. I'd like to introduce you to…." he started.

"The Secretary of the Navy," she finished. Her eyes were wide and her face very serious. "I've seen your picture," she added softly.

Davenport smiled. "I'm an ardent admirer of your work, Ms. Scuito. Without you, I can only imagine the number of NCIS cases that would remain unsolved," he said. "You are quite the forensic genius." He held out his hand for her to shake.

Abby shifted and swallowed nervously. "Thank you, sir," she said, gingerly taking his hand. "I'm just doing my job. And none of it would happen without my babies." She waved at the Major Mass Spec sitting to the side of the lab. "You know, I'm just a member of the team! We all do our part to see that crimes are solved and perpetrators are punished." She was getting very agitated. Her fingers flitted across the picture she had left in the pocket of her lab coat.

The SecNav wandered through her lab, glancing at the various pieces of equipment. The scientist bit her lip, walked over to a table, and lightly placed her gloved hand in a sticky, jelly like substance. She then moved up behind Davenport and rested her hand on the shoulder of his jacket. He was leaning over a set of evidence samples in plastic bags. "The results are fascinating, but sometimes the process is kind of boring," she admitted disarmingly.

He returned her gaze. "I doubt if anything you do could ever be boring," he said, openly eyeing the spiked collar and skull and crossbones t-shirt.

"You might be right about that," Abby agreed with bravado. "Currently, I'm analyzing some very important evidence, so not to be rude, I'd love to chat, but maybe we could finish this some other time?" She really wanted to get this guy out of her lab; he totally gave her the creeps.

"I understand. It's been a pleasure meeting you; hopefully we can talk again soon." He gave her another cold smile as he walked to the door.

Abby sighed when he left. She felt as if the devil had just walked across her grave. Staring down at her hand, she found several short hairs sticking to the gel on her glove. Davenport's DNA might not be important immediately, but it could become useful later on. Abby carefully eased the glove off so she could collect her new "evidence."

The Director and the SecNav walked across the hall. "I find it interesting that you and Gibbs never mentioned your previous work together. Any reason why?" Vance asked as they stepped onto the elevator.

The Secretary met his gaze. "It was a brief assignment many years ago. It didn't seem relevant," he replied easily, turning to face the doors, ending the conversation. Vance popped a toothpick between his teeth. He had a feeling there was a lot more to it than the SecNav was letting on.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

DiNozzo's inert body lying in the living room floor greeted Jackson as he returned to his home. The older man tossed down his bags and rushed to the fallen agent's side, "Dear Lord, Tony, what happened?" he said, struggling to help the younger man sit up.

"He left," Tony mumbled. "I thought I could talk him out of it, but he left." The agent shook his head disbelievingly.

Jackson pulled Tony off the floor; with his help the injured man made his way back into the bedroom. Tony was still not completely lucid, continuing to fade in and out of consciousness; Jack called Doc Carter to come over and check him out again.

"I'm fine," DiNozzo protested feebly once the elderly physician arrived. He tried to maneuver his tightly wrapped arm so he could get back out of bed. Jackson kept gently pushing him down, refusing to allow him to rise. Tony was growing more disturbed; he had to find Gibbs, he couldn't let him go after everything that had been said. _I am not your father. _DiNozzo ignored the whispered words, unwilling to deal with the implications.

"Listen, Jack, we need to find him. There's no telling what he might do. I can't….I can't believe he left that way!" It was getting harder for Jackson to keep Tony from getting up, he was now physically holding the field agent down. "Why wouldn't he stay and let me help him? I don't know what he's thinking, he said he's going to the SecNav's….ouch, what's that?" Tony felt a pinch in his arm; looked over to find that Doctor Carter had given him a shot. _Sneaky little gremlin. _"What…..what was that for?" He stopped ranting and sank back into the bed.

The Doctor patted his arm. "You have to relax before you pull those stitches out. Did you forget you were shot and needed a blood transfusion? Plus, you're going to do some permanent damage to that shoulder if you keep jerking around this way. You need to rest. Is that clear young man?"

All the doctor needed was a Scottish accent and Tony would feel just like Ducky was there. Whatever the physician had given him was powerful; he was already starting to fade. _Why did you have to leave, boss? Why couldn't you let me help you? _Even as the medication pushed Tony toward sleep, he couldn't stop the replay in his mind. _I am not your father…._ The words followed him into his dreams.

Once he had seen the doctor out, Jackson made himself some tea and settled into the chair in the spare bedroom to wait for morning. Even without the desire to ensure that DiNozzo didn't wake up and try to follow his son, he knew the events of the last twenty-four hours had been enough to prevent him from getting any sleep. First, his son returned from the dead, and less than a day later he took off to God knew where. The boy had always been a handful, and nothing much had changed. So Jackson sat in the chair, letting the quiet of the night and the soft breathing from Tony settle around him while he tried to understand what in the hell Leroy _was_ thinking.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

_Tony was falling from a very great height. He could feel himself swishing through the air; blue skies spread above him and the cold hard ground waited below. He had been high up in the tree when he lost his grip and slipped. He wondered how high he had been. Ten feet? Twenty? At ten years old, it was hard to judge the distance. What he did know was this would hurt. A lot._

_The impact with the earth jarred the breath from his thin body and left white spots dancing in his vision. He opened his eyes to see his father's expensive Italian loafers; the older man had been waiting for him to climb down from the tree. "What have you done now?" the man said in exasperation, bending to touch the twisted, broken leg that was just then notifying Tony of its presence. The pain hit him with a jolt, bringing the sting of tears to his eyes. He whimpered, but did not cry. He had already been trained that DiNozzo's do not cry._

_It was a beautiful spring day, and it should have been a happy one. His father was marrying a gorgeous and wealthy woman who insisted he call her Mother. Everyone else thought this was wonderful, but it did not make Tony very happy at all. He had escaped the reception, taken off his jacket and tie, and climbed to the top of the tallest tree he could find. Closer to the clouds he pretended his real mother was still alive and the party below him was to celebrate his parent's anniversary. Or his birthday. Or Flag Day. It didn't matter as long as it wasn't to celebrate the fact his mother had been forgotten and his family was no more._

_His childish game of make-believe had been interrupted by his father yelling at him to come down. He knew by the tone his father was angry, which made the boy nervous and contributed to him faltering and then falling from the tree. His father had not been pleased at his son's abrupt arrival at his feet. _

_The images shifted and changed, and he found himself in a hospital bed, clutching cold sheets and listening as his Dad explained that he and his new wife were leaving for their honeymoon, but the nanny would stay with him while he had surgery on his broken leg. Tony had never had surgery before, never been in a hospital before, never had a step-mother before. "Do you have to leave now?" he asked softly, barely brave enough to make eye contact with the imposing man beside him. He was scared. Tears pricked his green eyes, and he blinked them back. The nanny was new; he didn't know her very well. He needed his father to stay._

"_Yes, Junior, we have to leave now. I'll make sure the doctor calls and gives me a report as soon as it's all over," he said. His Dad stood awkwardly, looking as if he might hug the boy, but stopped when his new wife grabbed his arm and said, "Come on, Anthony, we're going to miss our flight." Tony watched his father leave, trying to stop the tears from leaking out as he was left behind, alone. The image of his father's retreating back merged with the memory of Gibbs', until the two were interchangeable, both men walking away from him as he asked them to stay._

Tony opened his eyes as the dream faded. He thought he had shoved all those memories away, put them in a box and closed the lid, hiding it on a dusty shelf in his mind where he never allowed himself to go. Recent events had forced the memories to re-emerge; they made him fight with feelings of abandonment he thought he had left behind long ago. He had talked to a counselor a few times about his past, but it didn't really help much. To be honest, his friendship with Gibbs had done more to eliminate those feelings than anything else in his life. But now, he wondered if he and Gibbs would ever have the same friendship again. It was not a thought he wanted to face; it was not a thought he could face. He had to find a way to fix this. The insecurity that had snuck in earlier pushed its way through further. _What if Gibbs doesn't want me to?_

A small snore from across the room caught his attention and he turned his head to find Jackson asleep in a chair. He smiled sadly, wondering how and when he had traded Jethro Gibbs for Jackson Gibbs.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Abby directed the hearse toward her apartment. She had worked late in the lab, feeling restless due to Tony's absence and the empty space left behind by Gibb's death. Tears welled up in her dark eyes and threatened to fall for what had to be the millionth time. She grabbed her cell from the center console and hit the number for McGee. His tired and groggy voice filled the car.

"Abs? What's going on? You ok?" he asked with concern.

"I'm driving home, Timmy. Do you think Tony's alright? Where do you think he is? Have you guys found anything out yet? I mean, really, Tim, how can you sleep not knowing where he is?" she asked, definitely on edge.

"Abby, how many Caf-Pows did you have today? You're a bit worked up," he stated.

"Just five or six Tim. And yeah, I'm upset. First Gibbs and now Tony. I'm just scared that Tony….you know…." she hesitated, noticing bright head lights approaching in her rear view mirror. Without warning, the car behind her sped up and rammed the bumper of her hearse. Abby's head jerked back and she squealed. "Oh my gosh, Tim, someone just hit my car!"

"Abby hang on," McGee shouted. "I'm coming to find you."

The car rammed her again. "McGee!" she cried out. Another violent crash sent Abby's hearse sliding off the road into a guard rail. Her head banged harshly into the steering wheel; the Goth groaned and didn't move. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead.

The car that hit her pulled over; a wiry man emerged. He walked up to the driver's side of the hearse and pulled the door open, reaching to grab the semi-conscious girl. Suddenly jumping to life, Abby jammed her keys into the man's arm. "Don't touch me!" she cried out.

The blonde-haired man jumped back with shock and surprise and grabbed his bleeding forearm. Another car pulled over and someone stepped out, "Is everyone ok over there? I've called 911; the police should be here in a few minutes."

"You're next, bitch," the unknown man muttered with his Russian accent, and ran back to his car before speeding away.

Abby smiled to herself, not concerned by the blood running down her cheek or the damage to her hearse. Instead, her eyes glinted at the blood on the end of her key. "Gotcha," she said happily. It was the best thing that had happened to her all day.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

When Jackson Gibbs woke, the first thing he noticed was the empty bed. Startled, he hurried into the living room. "Tony?" he called out. _That fool boy better not have slipped off in the night._

"Right here, Jack," came the smooth reply. Jackson found the younger man in the kitchen sitting at the table drinking a glass of orange juice. "Once Doctor Carter's drug cocktail wore off, I couldn't sleep," he said sheepishly. Actually, he had spent the last few hours waiting for the rest of the world to wake up reviewing Gibbs' last few words to him. He supposed he had pushed too hard and demanded too much of the Lead Agent. Tony was well known for taking that extra step too far. He had let himself become convinced their relationship was more than just boss and agent. And now…..well now he knew where he stood with Gibbs.

In a moment of anger, Gibbs had finally told him the truth.

If there was anything Tony had learned from DiNozzo Senior it was how to deal with hurt and disappointment. He was a master at covering up his real feelings with a mask of smiles and confidence. He could do that for Gibbs as well. _Maybe_.

He stood to put the empty glass in the sink, lost his balance, and plopped back in the chair. "Dammit," he said with aggravation. He didn't have time right now to be out of commission.

Jackson put the glass away for him. "Did you take the painkillers?" the older man asked.

"Uh, one," Tony replied, cradling his injured arm. "This hurts like hell." The first aid kit was sitting on the kitchen counter; Jackson pulled the thermometer out. Tony shook his head. "Come on, Jack, we don't have time for that. Right now we need to deal with more important things like how to find your son." He could tell he still had a slight fever, but didn't want Jackson dragging him back over to the clinic. No matter how confused he was by Gibbs leaving, by what Gibbs had said to him, he had to try and help his friend not get himself killed. They could deal with their personal issues later. The last ten years were worth at least that much.

"And I'm guessing you have a plan for finding him?" Jackson asked.

Tony smiled. "Feel like taking a little road trip?"

Jackson grinned back, "I'll make a few calls and get someone to watch the store for me. My friend Faye should be willing to take over for a few days."

Tony's smile grew wider. "Faye?" he said. "I think you're little black book might be thicker than mine. Are you sure we aren't related?"

Jackson ruffled the younger man's hair, "Stick with me and I just might teach you a thing or two, DiNozzo."

Tony didn't doubt it.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Abby, are you sure you should be here? The emergency room doctor said you have a slight concussion and need to rest," he pointed out, while the Goth ignored him and frantically worked to process the blood from her keys.

"How could I even consider resting while Tony is still missing, McGee? Maybe the DNA on these keys will give us a clue about what happened to him!" she insisted.

Ziva entered the lab. "Another good question is why someone was trying to hurt you Abby. Do you have any ideas?"

Abby stopped and tilted her head. "I don't have any idea. Tony didn't tell me anything he asked me to keep secret because it could be dangerous and he didn't want anyone else besides me to know about it. And I certainly wasn't doing background research on very important people who would be highly upset if they found out. Nope that never happened," she said, turning back toward her equipment.

McGee approached her, "What do you know, Abby? Spill it."

"But I promised Tony," she pleaded, not turning around to look at him.

"Considering the circumstances, I do not think he will mind," Ziva interjected.

Abby sighed, slowly pulling the picture Tony had given her from the pocket of her coat. "Tony found this in Gibbs' house; it's a picture of Gibbs, obviously, along with Elena Sokolov and Secretary of the Navy Philip Davenport," she explained. "Tony suspected the SecNav might be involved in Gibbs' death."

One of Abby's machines dinged. "I have a match from the blood. It's a Russian immigrant named Dimitry Petrov." They looked at the picture of the thin, blonde-haired man. "He was arrested on suspicion of murder, but released for lack of evidence."

"Tony was searching him on his computer. He's closely associated with another Russian named Ivan Medved who looks a lot like the man who attacked me at Gibbs' house. There seem to be an awful lot of Russians who keep popping up," McGee said. "Coincidence?"

"Gibbs would not think so," Ziva pointed out. "Do you really believe the SecNav could be involved?"

Abby twisted her fingers together. "If he is, Tony could be in some serious trouble."

McGee's phone rang. "Tony!" he yelled after answering. "Where are you? Are you ok?" Abby and Ziva gathered close, trying to pick up pieces of the conversation. "Alright. We'll be there. I'll grab Ducky, too."

Abby nearly jumped on top of the junior agent. "Where is he? What happened? Where are we meeting him? Tell me, McGee!" she demanded.

"Give me a minute, Abs, and I will!" he replied. "He's back at Gibbs' place; Jackson is with him. He wants us to meet him there in an hour and he said he'll explain everything."

Ziva crossed her arms. "This had better be one hell of an explanation," she said, fire in her dark eyes.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony hung up the phone. "They'll be here in an hour," he told Jackson. They had made decent time driving from Pennsylvania to DC; Tony managed to sleep most of the way and felt marginally better than when they left.

"Good," the older man said. "Now, you need to eat something." He sat a peanut butter sandwich and some milk on the table. "When we do find Leroy, I'm not going to have him accusing me of letting you get sick."

DiNozzo stared at the food. He had absolutely no appetite; actually the sight of the food made him queasy. He glanced up at Jackson, who seemed to have no intention of moving until after Tony had eaten the small meal.

"I feel like Jethro never left," he said, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. It sat like a lump in his stomach, but he didn't think it was going to make him throw up.

"All of it," Jackson said.

"You do know how old I am, don't you?" Tony inquired.

Jackson chuckled. "Age doesn't matter when you're concerned about someone," he replied.

The next lump Tony felt in his throat wasn't from the peanut butter.

"Tony, what are you brooding about?" Jackson noticed his troubled expression.

DiNozzo tore little pieces of crust off the top of the sandwich. It wasn't like him to talk about things like this, but with Jack, somehow it was easier.

"I always know what the boss is thinking. I can always anticipate his next move; kind of like I'm in sync with him." He looked up cautiously. "Right now, I don't feel that. I don't know what he's doing, or why. It's kind of scary." Tony laughed nervously. "You must think I'm nuts." He waited a beat. "I know I do."

"I don't know much about your own Dad, Tony, but I've heard enough to figure out your relationship isn't the best. You and Leroy fill a void for each other; you take up the slack for what the other one is missing. It's ok to admit that," Jackson said kindly.

Tony looked decidedly uncomfortable; he tore the now crustless sandwich in half. The seperate pieces reminded him of how he felt inside. "I don't think so, Jack. Don't read too much into things."

Jackson laid a hand on DiNozzo's shoulder. "And don't misinterpret Leroy's actions. Now, eat up. You need to build your strength back or you won't be good for anybody."

He managed to choke down the rest of the sandwich, which appeased Jackson's sense of paternal duty, then excused himself to the bathroom. Tony splashed some water on his face and closed his hollow eyes. His shoulder still ached mercilessly, but of more concern right now was the itching and burning of the bullet wound in his chest. He considered peaking under the bandage, but decided against it. Looking at his pale reflection, he wondered how he was ever going to keep Ducky from insisting that he head straight back to bed. Rest, however, was not an option. Finding Gibbs was his main priority. Gibbs words the night before had made Tony realize there was something important he needed to say to his mentor, no matter how much it hurt to put it into words, and he would do anything to get that opportunity. He couldn't let that be their last conversation.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Philip Davenport needed a drink and a cigar. Dimitry still had no idea where to find DiNozzo and his plan to incapacitate Ms. Scuito had backfired spectacularly. The Secretary was surrounded by incompetence.

The dim light from the setting sun guided him through his office to the small bar along the wall. He jumped, glasses and decanters tinkling, when an unexpected voice caught him off guard. "I'd try the bourbon. It's a good brand," Gibbs said. Daniel turned to find the ex-marine lounging behind his desk, a glass of amber liquid in the silver-haired man's hand.

Davenport smiled and finished pouring himself a drink. He turned to face his foe. "Nice to see you, Jethro. I should have known you wouldn't be so easy to kill."

It was Gibbs turn to smile. "That's right, you should have known. The question now," the ex-marine pulled his Sig up from beneath the desk and aimed it at the SecNav. "Is how easy is it going to be for me to kill you?"

The SecNav's expression clouded and his eyes pinched together. He had no doubt that Leroy Jethro Gibbs wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger and send everything crashing down around them.

The ice in Davenport's glass clinked; his hand shook ever so slightly as he waited expectantly for the burn of Gibbs' bullet slicing through him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: I think I have a disorder addicting me to writing long chapters! The team (minus our fearless leader) is back together, but not for long! Get set for some heroic Gibbs coming up in the next few chapters...the action intensifies (both physically and emotionally) as our boys reunite!**

**Your reviews have been so wonderful! I really do appreciate all the support...continue to let me know what you think :) It really is great to hear from you!**

"Ok, Abby, you can let go now! I need to breathe!" Tony's muffled voice emerged from underneath the Goth scientist's massive hug.

"But, Tony, I was so worried! I thought I might never see you again," she declared before punching him in his good shoulder.

"Hey! What was that for?" he asked with indignation.

"That was for not calling us! Don't ever do something like that again, Tony. It isn't fair!" she chastised.

"Well, it's not like I was shot or anything," he said plaintively, unconsciously rubbing his injured shoulder. "I kind of got a little preoccupied."

"So how did you end up with Jackson?" Ziva asked, giving the older man a nod and a wink. Jackson beamed back at her.

"That's an interesting story," Tony said, sitting down on the couch to cover up the fact he was starting to feel uncoordinated and woozy. Ducky's eyes were boring through him like tiny little lasers, so he sat up straighter and tried to add energy he didn't feel into his voice. "Maybe the rest of you should have a seat, too." He doubted the ME would fall for the deception, but it was worth a try.

They perched on the edges of the couch and chairs as Tony cleared his throat. There was no way he could prepare them for what he was about to say. Looking each in the eye, he finally blurted out, "Gibbs is alive."

No one spoke. The team members exhanged glances of confusion and disbelief. "Tony, it's really not right for you to do this to Jack…." McGee began, but was interrupted by Jackson.

"He's telling the truth," the older man stated. "I've seen Leroy, talked to him, yelled at him myself."

"So you were right to doubt, Tony. He really is alive," Ziva repeated, smiling in stunned amazement. "Only Gibbs could come back from the dead."

Between the two of them, Tony and Jackson related the events of the past two days.

"I can't believe it, I can't believe it, I can't believe it!" Abby squealed with delight. She jumped and down and clapped her hands. Abruptly she stopped and narrowed her black-lined eyes. "Even though I am mad at him for not coming back to us."

"Join the club," Tony muttered knowingly.

"And Gibbs is out there now trying to do what?" Ziva asked. "What is he hoping to accomplish on his own?"

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his spiky brown hair. "I guess he's trying to bring down the SecNav by himself, and by doing that keep Davenport and his goons from coming after any of us," he said. "I tried to explain to him that we're all big boys and girls and can take care of ourselves, but he didn't want to listen." Tony shrugged lopsidedly. "You know how he is when he gets like this; no one can talk to him."

"You usually can, Tony," Abby pointed out.

"Not this time, Abs." The memory of Gibbs walking away and shutting the door was still fresh in his mind. "I might be the last person he wants to talk to. By the way, nice stitches. It gives you a bad-girl vibe. What happened?"

"Oh, that," she grinned, rubbing her fingers over the cut. "Some crazy Russian named Dimitry rammed my car off the road. I think he might have been trying to kill me, or something like that." She tried to keep the comment off-handed and light so as not to upset her friend.

"What?" Tony exclaimed, leaning over and studying the injury more closely. He couldn't stand the thought of Abby being harmed by his request for her help. It kind of made him understand Gibbs' position a little better. Almost. "Abby were you hurt? How did you get away?"

"I'm fine, Tony," she smiled at his concern. "Nothing bad happened; well, my hearse needs some work done, but I got a really nice DNA sample which is good!" The raven-haired girl frowned. "I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with it yet, but you can never have enough DNA."

_That's one more strike against me, _Tony thought, his good mood at having the team back together turning somewhat sour_. Gibbs will kill me for bringing Abby into this and not keeping her safe._

McGee cleared his throat. "So what do we do now? I mean, if Gibbs does something…..you know, rash to the SecNav, we might not get a chance to tie him to any crimes and the boss will end up the one in trouble," he speculated.

"The first thing we have to do is find a definite connection between our key players. We need something to link the SecNav to Dimitry and Ivan, and then to Katerina Sokolov," Tony said. "McGee…."

"I'll check all their cell phone, e-mail, and banking records," he said.

Tony nodded, "Ziva….."

"I will review all arrest records, travel documentation, and the SecNav's past associations in Russia," she said.

Tony raised his eyebrows, "Abby…."

"I'll go over all the evidence found with Katerina Sokolov's body and see if there is a way to place any of the bad guys at the crime scene," she stated.

Tony smiled; he loved it when they anticipated his requests like that. They were a well-oiled investigative machine. "Let's get started," he declared, ready to do whatever he had to in order to find his boss. Gibbs had trained them all well; the blue-eyed man should have been with them leading the charge. The fact he wasn't infuriated Tony all over again.

As the others prepared to leave, DiNozzo slowly stood, using the arm of the chair to steady his precarious balance. "Hey, Tim," he said, stopping the younger man. "Listen. I just want to say about the other day, well…." His voice was quiet, reserved. He regretted losing control in front of the junior agent. Again. No matter how much he hated admitting his failure, it was necessary. "I over-reacted and it shouldn't have happened. I didn't hurt your wrist, did I?"

McGee smiled slightly and glanced down at the small bruise. "Forget it, Tony. I have. We've all been under a lot of stress; I know that wasn't really you. Just let it go."

"I've been letting a lot of things go lately, McGee. I just needed to tell you I'm sorry." He hoped the sentiment was enough to set things right between them. He and Tim had often been at odds with each other over the last few years, and he didn't want to do anything to make that situation worse. No matter what, he always thought of McGee as a friend, or even a challenging younger brother.

"Apology accepted. Now, let's get to work to straighten this mess out," Tim responded. "I don't think the boss realizes how much he needs our help."

"You got that one right," Tony agreed, grinning, his admiration for the younger man increasing with McGee's easy forgiveness..

"One more thing," the Senior Field Agent turned to address them all. "We need to decide if we should bring Vance in on this."

Ziva frowned. "Do you think we can trust him?" she asked. "He was chosen for his position by the SecNav, after all."

Tony scratched his head, thinking. "I'll be the first to admit to having issues with the Director, but he hasn't done anything lately to make me think he would be connected with the SecNav on something like this. Besides, we might need his help. Since we can assume that Gibbs really is going after the Secretary, maybe Vance could get us onto Davenport's estate, or at least set up a stake-out," he considered. "Plus, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a protection detail involved. Dimitry is going to figure out I'm back in town and he's already made a play at Abby. To be safe, I should probably go meet with Vance, fill him in on what's been happening." Tony laughed. "I can't wait to see his face when I tell him Gibbs is alive."

He let go of the arm of the chair and made a shaky move toward the door, hoping to get away before anyone, particularly Ducky, noticed he wasn't feeling all that well.

Not disappointing him, Dr. Mallard stepped in front of Tony. "Did you forget to include me in your list of individuals with something to do?" the elderly Scot inquired.

"Of course not, Ducky. I knew you would be more than willing to review Katerina's autopsy results again to see if you could find any new evidence," Tony stated hesitantly. "I'll see you at the office and you can go over your findings with me there." He tried to sidestep the diminutive physician, but the ME quickly moved back in front of him, blocking his way.

Ducky leaned in closer, peering inquisitively at his eyes. "You, Anthony DiNozzo, are doing no such thing. You are going straight upstairs so I can check those wounds and determine why you are sweating, unable to focus your eyes, and losing your balance every few minutes," he said.

Tony lowered his voice. "I need to be out there, Ducky. I need to do something to help Gibbs. I can't just go take a nap," he argued.

"You are doing something," Dr. Mallard responded. "You are directing the team in what they need to do, which is the responsibility of the Team Leader. You can do that just as effectively from here, but not as effectively if you are incapacitated from ignoring your injuries. I will call Director Vance and have him meet you here." He looked at Jackson. "A little help, Jack?"

"Listen to the doctor, Tony. Let him look you over, and if everything is fine you can head on over to the office," Jackson added reasonably. He lightly laid a hand on Tony's arm and stared him in the eye, making it clear that although right now they were making suggestions, it wouldn't take much to turn them into demands. DiNozzo had been fighting with one Gibbs enough already; he didn't want to fight with two.

Tony groaned dramatically, but he knew they were right. His chest and shoulder were throbbing ruthlessly. He hadn't taken any of the pain medication since early in the morning, and his entire body seemed aware of that fact. His main concern was that if he did lie down he might not get back up for a few hours…or days.

Abby tiptoed over and kissed him on the cheek. "Let us take care of things for a while, Tony. That's what we're here for," she said. Again, she was right. He couldn't fault Gibbs for not bringing in the team and then not listen to them himself.

"Thanks, Abby," he replied. "But all of you, don't let your guard down for a minute. We don't know what these guys are capable of."

"Do not worry, Tony. Maybe they do not know what _we_ are capable of," Ziva said, her entire face lighting up at the thought of showing them.

Tony gave Jackson an appreciative look. "She might be right."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"So is that what you plan on doing?" Davenport asked, playing any card he could think of to get Gibbs to back down, to stall him for a few minutes. "You plan on killing me? Then what? Are you just going to walk away? Disappear?" He laughed. "I don't think it will work out like that, Jethro."

"Why not?" Gibbs stated, leaning casually forward. "I know how the system works. I can be gone before your body hits the ground. Then it's over; you won't be around to bother me or anybody else. You certainly won't have an opportunity to become President of the United States."

"If you kill me, I can assure you I have enough protocols in place that no member of your team will be safe. Dimitry will hunt down every single person you care about. No one will walk away alive," he threatened.

Gibbs stood and approached the Secretary. "First, that's a very short list. Second, I guess I'll just have to kill Dimitry, too," he said calmly. "Whatever it takes."

"I always liked you, Jethro. I hate that it's turned out this way. But I knew once you found out that Katerina was my daughter, you wouldn't leave it alone," he stated. "If the world discovers my relationship with her mother, everything I've worked for will be destroyed. I won't let that happen. Not even you can stop me," he said with confidence.

Gibbs snorted. "Most voters would look down on the fact you sold military information to the Russians. Is that how you paid for this place?" Gibbs scanned around the elegantly appointed office.

Davenport smiled. "It certainly helped. I never gave Elena anything that damaging to the US, but I did need to establish myself financially if I planned on having any kind of political career. It was necessary."

"It was necessary? You're a liar and a traitor. You arranged for the murder of your own daughter. Was that _necessary?_ You disgust me," Gibbs fumed. The former gunnery sergeant's finger itched on the trigger. He needed to get this done; it was what he came here to do. Killing the SecNav was the easiest way to solve everything. Yet, he hesitated. Davenport was right about one thing, once it was over, he would either have to disappear forever or he would be caught, prosecuted, and sent to jail. Neither option appealed to him. In a way it felt selfish to worry about the consequences, about never seeing Tony, the team, or his father again.

_You've gone soft, Gibbs, _he thought.

A sound from behind the blue-eyed man caught his attention; he shifted, glanced out of the corner of his eye. Dimitry emerged from the shadows, a gun pointed directly at the federal agent. He had waited too long to take action, and now the situation had changed.

"You shoot me, I shoot him," Gibbs said flatly. "Either way, Davenport still dies."

"And I'm left to take out the rest of your team," Dimitry pointed out. "That works for me. I'm particularly looking forward to eliminating DiNozzo. Believe me, I won't make it a quick death. The people watching your house have reported he's already returned there, so finding him won't be a problem."

Gibbs debated. He no longer had an advantage. He remembered Tony's words before he left, _We can find another way. _Maybe Tony was right. Maybe he could find another way.

Davenport grinned ferally, "Something else you didn't consider, Jethro. I'm disappointed; you're usually better prepared than this."

Gibbs silently agreed that he normally had his bases covered better. Actually, DiNozzo usually had his six so he wouldn't have to worry about someone like Dimitry getting the drop on him. The thought of his Senior Field Agent sent a ripple of guilt through his gut; leaving Tony behind the way he did made him literally sick to his stomach. Saying those words to Tony…even if he didn't actually mean them. But it had been for the younger man's own good. He held on to that thought as he made a decision; the only thing he could think of to possibly get Davenport to stop pursuing Tony.

Ivan entered, yet another gun pointed at Gibbs. The NCIS agent sighed, reluctantly lowering his weapon. "You have me, Philip, now leave my team out of this," he requested. "I can convince them to back off."

"Getting them to back off is a very good idea, Jethro. I think I'll give you the opportunity to do just that," he agreed. "After we've had a chance to talk some more. I'm sure you're smart enough to have some documentation on me hidden away somewhere. I need to know where those documents are."

Before the agent could respond, Dimitry stepped forward, lifted the butt of his gun, and brought it down on the back of Gibbs' skull. The agent grunted and dropped to one knee as a searing hot pain pierced his head. His blue eyes flashed angrily. "We'll see who finishes this, Philip," Gibbs promised, as Dimitry smashed the gun down once again and a dark roar of pain engulfed him, taking him all the way to the floor.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"A little compassion for the injured, Ducky!" Tony insisted. "That hurts!"

Dr. Mallard had removed the sling and binding on Tony's arm and shoulder. He was currently peeling back the padding covering the bullet wound on DiNozzo's chest. The ME clucked unhappily as he tugged the reddish-yellow gauze off the stitched area. "Anthony, this wound is infected. I'm assuming you might have noticed some discomfort?" he asked with a note of derision. Red tendrils surrounded the inflamed flesh, which was oozing thick pus.

Tony frowned as he looked down at the area. It was rather gross. "Um, it's kind of been burning a little today, maybe a bit itchy, but it didn't seem too bad. Nothing I couldn't handle," he countered.

"Yes, I'm sure. You remind me of a young man who had a burning, itching sore he ignored until several baby bot-flys emerged. That got the fellow's attention!"

"Ducky, please!" Tony groaned.

"Well, the point is you can't ignore these things, Anthony. An infection can be a very serious issue," he admonished. "Have you been taking an antibiotic?"

"I took a few pills the Doc in Stillwater gave me," he admitted. Jackson dug the bottle out of his pocket and showed it to Ducky.

"This is fine for a typical injury, but I believe you are going to need something stronger. An intravenous antibiotic would be preferable, but I have a feeling I won't be very successful at getting you into a hospital right now," he said.

"No, definitely not," Tony agreed emphatically. "Give me anything you want here, but I'm not going anywhere near a hospital."

Ducky sighed again. "Too much like Jethro for your own good," he mumbled.

Jackson smiled at the comment; Tony rolled his eyes.

After cleaning and re-bandaging the wounded area, Dr. Mallard once again bound Tony's shoulder and gently slipped his arm back into the sling to prevent any undue movement. By the end of the process, the field agent was gritting his teeth and wiping beads of sweat from his brow.

"I agree that the bullet more than likely fractured the scapula, which is quite a painful break that requires weeks to heal. Why don't you allow me to give you something for the pain, Anthony?" he asked sympathetically. "I'm guessing it's much more severe than you've been letting on."

"I can't, Duck. Vance should be here soon, and you never know what else might happen in the meantime. I can't let myself get all loopy," he explained. "The team needs me." He paused. "Gibbs needs me. He might not know it, but he does." The words were soft, but firm.

Being angry at Gibbs wasn't the equivalent of giving up on Gibbs. He just hoped the older man felt the same way about him. Considering Gibbs' statements and actions, he wasn't entirely sure.

Ducky smiled kindly. "You are correct about that, my boy. But I'm guessing that behind all of Jethro's bravado, he knows exactly how much he needs you, which is why he does so many foolish things where you and the other members of the team are concerned. You must forgive him for his actions; they are a result of his overprotective nature and I dare say he doesn't know how to be any other way," the doctor informed, tightening the sling causing DiNozzo to wince.

"I accused him of not trusting me," Tony confessed quietly. "He never tells me anything, and I think it's because he doesn't trust me to be able to help him. We argued about it before he left." Tony glanced at the doctor with shadowed and sorrowful eyes. The honesty that flashed across his face was something few people ever saw. "I can't decide if I should be mad at him or worried that I've totally ticked him off."

The doctor patted Tony's leg. "You and Jethro are two of a kind, and I have every confidence all will work out between you. But perhaps our silver-haired leader needs to re-evaluate his lone wolf habits every now and then. It's good he has you to call him on it," Ducky stated. "I seriously doubt anyone else could get away with doing so." The elderly physician laughed.

"Now we just have to find him," Tony pointed out nervously and coughed.

"Alright, lad, open up," Ducky stuck a thermometer in DiNozzo's mouth and tapped his chin to make sure it stayed closed. "As I said earlier, that infection is nothing to sneeze, or cough, at. Without proper treatment it could easily lead to septicemia. And that is not a condition you want to deal with."

The doctor was taking Tony's pulse when Vance walked in the bedroom door. "DiNozzo, what in the hell is going on?" he demanded tersely. "Oh," he added, observing Tony's wrapped arm and worn features.

"Hey, Director," the agent managed around the thermometer, which Ducky removed to read, shaking his head slightly at the numbers. He placed a blood pressure cuff on Tony's bicep. "Miss me?" Tony asked, deflecting his current state of weariness. He could actually feel the bags under his eyes.

"Only you, DiNozzo," the Director said, easing his tone down some. "Tell me what happened."

Once again the story was recounted. Vance stopped Tony and Jackson several times to say, "You've got to be kidding me," and "He really is alive?" When Tony shared the part about going to the warehouse, Vance included a colorful, "What the hell were you thinking going there without backup?"

"I still can't believe he's been alive all this time and didn't tell anybody, not even you," the Director finally said to Tony.

DiNozzo leaned his head back against the bed. "Do as I say, not as I do."

Vance paced over to stand by the window. "You're sure about the SecNav. This is a very serious accusation you're making; if you end being wrong it could ruin you, Gibbs, and anyone else involved."

"All the pieces fit together. Of course, I believe Gibbs. Don't you?" Tony asked.

The Director considered; as long as he had known him, Gibbs had never lied. He couldn't imagine the gruff old marine would start now. The SecNav was different; despite the fact he had promoted Vance to his current position, there was always something deceitful about the man. It was obvious that at the end of the day Davenport was going to find a way to come out on top, no matter who he stepped on in the process. Vance had never truly trusted him.

He decided to go with his gut, and his gut was saying Gibbs and the team all the way.

By the end of the discussion, Ducky was stealing looks at the Director; Tony's eyes had slid shut more than once. The ME was fairly sure the agent wasn't even aware he was falling asleep right in front of them. The young man's skin glistened, indicating the elevated temperature that was of concern to the doctor. The field agent's brow furrowed and his eyes pinched as he fought the battle to pay attention and stay awake, but eventually he lost the struggle and his eyes didn't re-open. His breathing was slow and shallow, but even.

Vance met the physician's gaze and stood; the three men quietly exited the room so Tony could sleep. "Is he alright?" The Director asked. "He looks terrible."

"Yes, I know," Ducky confirmed. "I am worried about that bullet wound; it's slightly infected. He's definitely pushing himself beyond his body's current physical limitations. I'm going to get a more potent antibiotic for him to take; I hope I can stop the infection before it gets any worse."

Vance nodded. "I'll send over a couple of agents to watch the house. I'll also get some people to quietly investigate where Gibbs might be and check in with you in the morning." He acknowledged Jackson, "We'll find your son, Mr. Gibbs, and bring him home safely. That's a promise."

"Thank you, Leon. I know you'll do everything you can," the white-haired man declared, seeing the Director to the door.

When Ducky and Jackson re-entered the bedroom, they found Tony had slipped down under the sheets and curled up on his uninjured side. He was sleeping soundly. Jack pulled the blanket over him and gently touched his forehead, which continued to feel warm, clammy, and feverish.

"I'll be back quickly with the medication," the Scottish doctor assured his friend. "If he isn't any better by morning I'll insist he go to hospital." He set his jaw. "But under the current circumstances it might take us holding him at gunpoint to get him there."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Jackson peered out the window again. He was definitely nervous. It was bad enough not knowing where Leroy was right now and what crazy thing he might be doing, but the additional fear of someone attacking Tony was somewhat maddening. Every sound, creak, and stir had him up and checking for an intruder. He had gone so far as to locate an old rifle of Leroy's which was sitting by the chair ready for use.

If this is what these boys had to deal with all the time, he was glad he'd never become a federal agent.

Ducky had called; he was having some trouble obtaining the medications he wanted for Tony, and would take longer to get back than planned. The Director had also phoned in, letting him know that several agents had been assigned to watch the house and would be arriving within the next hour. The additional help would be a relief.

In his younger days he wouldn't have worried so much, but now, well he had to concede that he wasn't much protection. There were times when he hated getting old.

Assuring himself that all was quiet for now, Jackson grabbed the rifle and headed back up to Tony's bedroom. The young man was no longer sleeping peacefully; a shiver tore through him as he tossed and turned on the bed. Jack hurried down the hall to the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth that he applied to Tony's noticeably hotter forehead. The field agent's emerald eyes opened sluggishly.

"What's going on?" DiNozzo slurred, disoriented. He looked around, confused by his surroundings. He and Gibbs had moved around a lot in the last few days.

"Settle down, Tony," Jackson ordered kindly. "Your fever's back up. Ducky went to get you some medicine. Everything's alright."

DiNozzo's mind slowly caught up with the situation. _Vance. _"Where did the Director go? We were talking; I don't really remember anything after that."

"You've been asleep. Like I said, you have a pretty high fever. The Director went back to the office to see if he could help find Leroy," Jackson explained.

Tony had somehow forgotten about Gibbs. "I have to go, too," he said. "I have to help." He tried to get up, but it didn't even take Jackson to keep him in bed this time; he fell back of his own accord. "In a minute," he added weakly. "After I can move again."

The elderly Gibbs shushed the younger man, placing the cool cloth back on his skin. Tony would usually flinch from this type of contact, but for some reason the attention from Jackson didn't bother him_. It must be a Gibbs' thing_, he concluded.

"You know," Jack said. "I was listening to what you told Dr. Mallard earlier. I don't know if you realize it all the time, but that boy of mine thinks the world of you."

"Then why is he acting like this?" Tony couldn't stop himself from asking. "Why does he keep pushing me and everyone else who tries to help him away?"

Jackson shook his head. "He did it to me, too, after Shannon and Kelly died. I think he's afraid to let anybody care about him. Like maybe he doesn't deserve it or something. Losing those two girls ripped him apart, Tony. I still don't think he's managed to put himself together again. He has to realize that caring about people is a two-way street; you can't just let someone in and then tell them to get lost when times get tough."

"That's what he expects me to do," Tony grumbled.

"His intentions are good, Tony. He's worried about you and the rest of those young people he works with."

"We're worried about him, too," Tony added grimly. "I don't always challenge him that way. He must be pretty mad to just walk out on me like that."

"I was fairly impressed by how you stood up to him," Jackson said, grinning. "Not a lot of folks take Jethro on."

"They're probably the smarter ones. He didn't even bother to head slap me. Just said not to follow him and out the door he went." _I am not your father. _Tony didn't mention that additional part of the conversation, the really painful part. Gibbs knew him better than anyone, and had said the very thing to cut him to the core. Inside, Tony was still reeling from the blow. He couldn't believe the words were intentional, but they hurt nevertheless. He had been pushing Gibbs ever since the older agent returned; his insecurities had ultimately shoved Gibbs away. Tony's anger was quickly being replaced by concern that the Lead Agent not only didn't trust him, but had grown tired of dealing with him. It was DiNozzo's goal to let the silver-haired man off the hook. It would be his way of repaying all that Gibbs' had done for him through the years.

The older Gibbs observed the look of doubt cross Tony's features. "I think he has a great deal of respect for you, Tony, or he wouldn't give you the chance to challenge him."

A sound from downstairs silenced the man. In the drawn out quiet, heavy footsteps could be heard crossing the floor. Jackson picked up the rifle. Tony eased over to the edge of the bed and sat up despite his aching body and spinning room. His shoulder and chest continued to torment him with jagged shards of pain, but there was no way he would let Jackson face this unknown person alone. He struggled to his feet and swayed slightly before regaining his balance.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

Jackson stood with the gun ready to fire. Tony gave the elderly man a reassuring nod.

Suddenly the door was flying backwards into the room. Jackson jumped and discharged the rifle, the shot hitting nothing except the far wall. Ivan's towering, muscular frame stood inside the doorway clutching a shotgun.

Tony surged forward, driving his uninjured shoulder into the intruder's side, forcing Ivan to teeter off-balance and lose his grip on the weapon. The brutish thug wrapped an enormous paw around DiNozzo's arm and flung him to the floor where Tony landed on his bandaged side. Seering agony sliced through the agent and he cried out, grey clouding his vision as white streaks flashed in front of his eyes. He fought to stay conscious against the sudden influx of pain.

"Tony!" Jackson yelled, trying to reach his writhing friend. Ivan locked his fist and swiped at the older man, catching him in the jaw with a crack. The elder Gibbs fell limply to the floor beside DiNozzo.

Tony shook his head and attempted to rise in spite of the fresh waves of anguish that accompanied the effort. He reached toward Jackson; fear filling him at the site of the older man's unmoving body. "J…Jack?" he struggled out, trying to touch the man who had come to mean so much to him. The thought that Jack might be seriously injured was devestating.

Ivan's foot stepped down on Tony's hand. He stopped moving and looked up at the lumbering giant. The Russian bent down beside Jack; he had retrieved his gun and pointed it at the man's head. "You are requested to meet with the SecNav and your boss, Agent Gibbs. Now, you can come easily or you can make this difficult. Make it difficult and the old man here doesn't get a chance to wake up. Make it easy and you get a chance to see Gibbs one more time before he dies for good. It's your choice."

DiNozzo clenched his fist. "I'll come with you," he said with resignation. "Just leave Jack alone."

"Good choice," Ivan informed him, taking his foot off the agent's hand. "Get up."

"I'll just hop right on up, Ivan," he said sarcastically, pushing himself off the floor a few inches before his muscle quivered and he slumped back down. This guy was possibly dumber than he looked. Hooking Tony under his arm, Ivan hoisted the injured man upright and walked him out of the house.

As Tony stumbled along, he wondered how mad Gibbs was going to be that he hadn't followed orders and stayed at Jack's place. It wasn't going to help matters that he had brought his Dad back and gotten him beat up. Of course, there was also the fact his meddling had resulted in Abby's car wreck. He prayed Jack would be ok and the old man wasn't badly hurt. Tony lost his footing, tripped and nearly fell; Ivan roughly kept him upright until he was tossed in the back of a waiting car.

He laid his head against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to conserve what strength he had left. It wasn't like he would be a lot of help to Gibbs, but he intended to do what he could. Getting picked up by Ivan was actually the best thing that could have happened, since the oaf would take him right to Gibbs and save him all the leg-work.

Despite the bleak circumstances, Tony knew exactly how, with a little bit of luck, he could help save his boss. Like any self-respecting Tonto whose Lone Ranger was in trouble, DiNozzo had a plan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: It was nice to hear that so many of you liked the last chapter! **

**I thought I'd mention that I use a lot of allusions, mostly from old tv shows or movies, and all are references I think Tony would know (he's just a few years older than me, so if I know it he should know it). But if you're younger, you might have to look some of them up!**

**We're very close to the showdown with the SecNav, and then on to the aftermath (lots of angsty resolution to the Tony/Gibbs situation and a very sick Tony). Thanks to everyone who's been following and reviewing; I couldn't keep up with it without all your encouragement! You are wonderful readers :)**

Gibbs sat in the floor and rubbed the back of his head, running his fingers over the growing lump. He had woken up a while back on a cold cement floor with a headache pounding away like he'd been locked in Abby's lab with her music blaring in his ears all night. After determining that he wasn't suffering from a major concussion, he spent the next few minutes assessing the room where he was being held to try and find a way out. Several passes around the unbroken concrete walls later, he determined there was no means of escape.

He was more than likely in some type of cellar. The walls were rough cinderblock, a rickety staircase led to a thick wooden door. There were no windows and the only light came from a dingy bare bulb in the center of the room. The door was old, but solid, made of hard wood with thick metal hinges and a lock that could have been used in Fort Knox. The space was completely empty, cobwebs and dirt the only adornment. Finally, the Lead Agent slid down the wall and sat in the floor, wondering how long he would have to wait until his captors decided to visit him again.

He allowed himself a half-smile. It wasn't like being trapped in a basement was much punishment to him; if he had some wood, a sanding block, and a bottle of bourbon, he could stay down here for days.

A part of him debated if he should have followed his plan, shot Davenport point blank and considered the consequences later. Perhaps his hesitation was the price of getting older; he knew now how hard it was to pay off those consequences down the line. That knowledge tempered his impulsiveness with thoughts of the future; he had lived alone for the last two months, he could continue to do so if needed. But the truth was, he didn't want to. He enjoyed being with his team, with his family, and he didn't want to give that up again; not for Davenport, not for anybody.

The former marine had missed his life more than he ever imagined. He missed his house, his basement, squaring off with Vance, challenging the team, and hanging out with Tony after work over cowboy style steaks and a beer. It was for the most part a simple life, aside from the occasional psychopathic serial killer, and he liked it that way. It was what had helped him keep his sanity over the many years after Shannon and Kelly died. Giving it away because of someone like Davenport; well that was really pissing him off.

He wondered how Tony was holding up. The agent was having a difficult time believing that he and DiNozzo were…..what were they doing? Fighting? Disagreeing? He wasn't sure what was going on between them. He could understand the younger man's anger to some extent. But for Tony to think he didn't trust him? That he didn't care about him? It was ridiculous, and a small part of him was almost mad at Tony for even suggesting it. He trusted his field agent more than anyone in the world. There was no one else he would turn to in a crisis. When he told DiNozzo Senior that Tony was the best young agent he ever worked with, he meant it.

No, the problem went deeper than that, and it was one Gibbs didn't know how to fix. Somehow, sometime, he had come to feel too close to the younger agent. So close, in fact, he couldn't live with the thought of Tony being hurt as a result of his own problems. But had his zeal to protect Tony actually harmed the younger man? Could he protect him and still treat him like a partner and an equal? Or had he started treating Tony like a child, _his child?_ The Lead Agent had attempted to keep his distance from the team, but each of them found a niche in his defenses, weaseling their way behind the emotional wall he had erected to protect himself from the situation he found himself in now.

Tony, well Tony had been weaseling his way in from day one.

The heavy door opened suddenly and Dimitry stepped onto the landing. He gazed down at Gibbs with a troubled expression. "Something has been bothering me," the Russian said. "Why did you come here? We thought you were dead; no one was looking for you. What purpose did it serve for you to place your life at risk?"

"Why do you care, Dimitry? What does it matter to you?" the agent replied.

"I am just curious, that is all. Was it to protect your friend, Agent DiNozzo? He is not your relative or your son. Why would you be willing to die for him?" Petrov asked, obviously confused by their relationship.

"I didn't say I was willing to die for him. Maybe I just wanted to get back at Davenport for trying to kill me."

Petrov shook his head; stared at Gibbs appraisingly. "No. I do not believe so. You were content to hide until your agent was injured, threatened. You left him things; your house, your car. You are his boss, yet you treat him as a son. I am a son, but treated as an employee. Whether your DiNozzo lives or dies, he is still a fortunate man." Gibbs had no idea what the Russian was talking about. Without another word, Dimitry turned and left the room, locking the door again, leaving Gibbs to try and figure out the meaning behind the strange conversation.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Nice place you got here," Tony commented genially. "You pay for all this on a SecNav's salary?"

Ivan had half-dragged, half-carried the federal agent into the well-appointed office of Philip Davenport and unceremoniously dropped him in a chair. The Secretary was leaning against an ornate cherry desk with his arms crossed. He frowned unhappily. Tony guessed he wasn't going to be put up for a commendation any time soon.

"One thing in all those reports I read is accurate," Davenport said. "You really are a pain in the ass."

Tony laughed darkly. "Yeah, well, I aim to please. What now? How does all this play out?" he asked. The fatigue was nearly more than he could tolerate and he wasn't sure how much longer he could play this game. He wanted to rub his eyes, ask for a drink, maybe take a nap on the nice leather couch, but he forced himself to sit still, make eye contact, pay attention. _Play the game, DiNozzo. _Under normal circumstances, he would thrive on this challenge.

"How does all this play out? I eliminate you and Gibbs, find any evidence you've squirreled away, and then I become President of the United States. Or if that doesn't happen, maybe I'll be appointed Secretary of Defense or to some other high level position. It isn't exactly what I want, but I would take it. Any way you look at it, I end up on top," the SecNav explained. "And you? Well, you and Gibbs end up dead,"

"Just one problem with that scenario," Tony identified. "What about our team? You can't kill them all, and I know they won't let this go. So even if you do kill me and Gibbs you won't get away with this. Your secrets will still come out."

"Once your team sees what I do to you, they'll be afraid to reveal anything about me. I'll find those they care about most, and make them realize that if anything happens to me, their loved ones will pay the price. It should be enough to keep them quiet. Most people have parents, brothers, or sisters they care about. You and Gibbs are the only ones who have little in the way of family; it's not like either of you has had much contact with your fathers over the years. That makes you dangerous individuals," he remarked. "But you do have each other, and that, my boy, gives me some leverage."

He walked over to Tony; lifted his chin. Tony tried to jerk away, but the Secretary held firm. "Just what would you do to protect your beloved boss? To stop him from being hurt? What would he do to protect you?" Davenport laughed. "I think soon we'll find out. The irony is that I've known Jethro for a long time, and I've never seen him let his defenses down this much for someone else. I think I'll enjoy watching the mighty Gibbs break for a smart-ass piece of shit like you. I'll enjoy it very much."

"You're wrong. Gibbs won't break for me; he won't break for anybody. But I'm sure you'll get some great entertainment out of trying," DiNozzo stated. "Now me, on the other hand, I'll probably be crying like a baby in less than five minutes. I have very low pain tolerance and somewhat sensitive skin." Tony baited the older man. He wanted to make sure the SecNav put him in the same place as Gibbs, even if it was to potentially torture him. It was the only way he could possibly help the Lead Agent.

Davenport's lips turned up. "You really think so? We'll see, Agent DiNozzo." He leaned in close. "But I think you are very, very wrong about Agent Gibbs. I think you underestimate what he'll do to stop us from harming you."

Without warning, the SecNav backhanded DiNozzo across the mouth. Tony's head flew back, and the metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue. "Dimitry told me about the rough way you treated him. You obviously never learned very good manners during that blue-blood upbringing of yours."

"Maybe that's what got me disowned; I used the wrong fork too many times." The hand flew into his face again. Tony licked his bloody lip and grinned.

The Secretary nodded to Ivan, who lumbered over to DiNozzo's seat. "Get up," the Russian said.

"Listen, man, I know you're English isn't great, but we've been through this before."

Ivan just said, "Up."

Tony tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't hold him. As he crumpled down, Ivan's larger, thicker hand caught him in the face once more, bringing stars to go along with it. DiNozzo slid bonelessly to the floor.

Ivan grinned, warming to the prospect of giving the annoying man a good beating. Leaning down he grabbed Tony's shirt and pulled him forward, curling his hand into a fist this time. "Stop," Davenport said, bringing a look of disappointment to Ivan's doughy visage. "Save it for when he has an audience. I wouldn't want Agent Gibbs to miss all the fun."

Tony groaned. He didn't think he and the SecNav shared the same definition of "fun".

"Throw him in with Gibbs." Tony let out a thankful sigh. Finally, exactly what he wanted.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

As Ducky walked up to Gibbs' front door, he immediately recognized that something was wrong. The door stood wide open; voices were coming from the upstairs bedroom where Tony had been sleeping. The elderly ME took the stairs like a much younger man, rushing in to find Jackson Gibbs sitting in the floor; two other men kneeling next to him. One of the men turned a gun toward the doctor, as if expecting a much more dangerous visitor.

"Dr. Mallard, I apologize. I thought it might be the person who attacked Mr. Gibbs coming back," the man explained. "Director Vance assigned us to watch the house, but I guess we got here too late."

"What happened?" Ducky asked, bending down to take a look at the purple and black bruise on the older Gibbs' face.

"Someone broke in and clocked me in the jaw." The wrinkled blue eyes squinted at the pain from the doctor's touch. "When I came to, Tony was gone."

"Are you ok? Any nausea or dizziness?" The ME needed to determine whether or not to take his aged friend to the hospital.

"Nothing hurt but my pride," Jackson responded with chagrin. In his younger days he would have put up a hell of a fight. "It's Tony we need to worry about."

Ducky stood, nodding in agreement. "I'll call the team," he said.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Gibbs paced the four walls of the cellar like a caged tiger. Since Dimitry's brief visit he had been left alone with only his thoughts for a distraction. He was growing tired of the solitary confinement; his mind was not necessarily the best company right now.

He kept coming back to the problem of what to do about DiNozzo. From the very beginning, Tony had never been an easy person to deal with. Many people were annoyed by the brash, outspoken, often immature young field agent. But he wasn't; never had been. From their earliest days as partners, Gibbs had found something remarkable about Tony. He was at times smart, strong, and brave—but at other times completely and totally vulnerable. Many didn't see the vulnerable side since the younger man kept it so well hidden.

DiNozzo was a paradox and an oxymoron. He could harp on others tenaciously, and could take it just as well. However, the occasional unkind word or unintended statement might seriously wound him. Anticipating what was going to pierce the armor was a difficult task. At those moments the mask would slip, the hurt would show, and the young boy who had lost his mother and been neglected by his father peeked out. That vulnerability had always been apparent to Gibbs; he sometimes wondered why others couldn't see it, too. Witnessing it was part of what made him feel so protective of Tony.

DiNozzo had _wanted _a father figure. The emptiness in the younger man due to that missing piece was at the heart of Tony's existence. Although Gibbs would never admit it, after Kelly had left his life he had needed someone to father. He hadn't realized it at the time they met, but they were perfectly matched to each other. They were two sides of the same coin.

He could only imagine the crushed look on his partner's face when he walked away from him in Pennsylvania. Knowing Tony, he had misunderstood everything and would soon enough be blaming himself for the way things were turning out. How many times had DiNozzo Senior turned his back on the young man and left him alone when he needed him most? No wonder Tony was hurt and confused by his actions.

_I am not your father. _Gibbs had only meant that he would never act the same way as Tony's real Dad; he would never walk out and not look back. But he knew how the statement sounded to Tony. It would take some time to unravel the mix-up. Time Gibbs wasn't entirely sure they were going to get.

"Dammit," he said out loud. Just because he cared about the younger man, didn't mean DiNozzo couldn't frustrate him like no one else.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Ducky brought Jackson back to NCIS headquarters for safekeeping and to provide details to the rest of the team about Tony's abduction.

"What do we do now?" McGee asked. "Gibbs is missing; Tony's missing. If we don't figure something out fast, it'll probably be too late."

Ziva grinned. "Campfire."

"Are you serious?" McGee questioned. "Do we really have time for that?"

"Do you have any other ideas?" the former Mossad agent asked.

McGee took a few minutes to think. "No, no I don't. Ok, campfire it is," McGee agreed, pulling up a chair. The situation was getting desperate so he was willing to try anything.

"What's a campfire?" Jack asked, bringing over a chair for himself. Ducky joined him.

"It is something Tony started when Gibbs "retired" to Mexico and he was Team Leader. It is a brainstorming session where everyone throws out their information and ideas and we see what sticks," Ziva explained.

Jackson nodded approvingly. "Sounds like a good way to promote teamwork and sharing. I like it."

Vance walked up to them; he grabbed a chair for himself and pulled it into the circle. The rest of the group stopped talking and stared at the additional member.

"What?" he asked, somewhat indignant. "Can't I be a part of your campfire? These are my agents that are missing."

McGee spoke first. "Of course you are, Director. I mean, you are the Director, it's not like we could tell you no or anything. Not that we would tell you no, since we all think you have a lot to contribute. I'm…..I'm sure you have some excellent ideas. So, um, welcome to our campfire." He looked at Ziva for help; the Israeli just shook her head at his stumbling.

"So what have we got?" Vance asked, ready to move on to business.

"Nothing concrete," Ziva began. "I discovered that Davenport spent a lot of time in Russia several decades ago. He was connected to a Russian woman named Elana Sokolov who turned out to be a KGB agent. Davenport provided information about her to our government, and even courted her as a double agent. She was killed in Russia nearly ten years ago. She had two children; Katerina Sokolov and Dimitry Petrov."

"Dimitry is Katerina's brother?" McGee asked. "Why does he have a different last name?"

"He took the name of Elena's husband; however this man was not Dimitry's father. No father is listed in his records," Ziva explained. "Katerina was born many years later after Elena divorced. There is no father identified in her records either."

Abby ran off the elevator, pigtails bouncing and heavy heels clunking. She grasped the back of Vance's chair to stop her momentum, pushing the Director's seat forward several inches and earning herself a withering glare. "Would you like to join us, Ms. Scuito?" the Director asked sharply.

"Um, yeah," Abby replied and gazed around wide-eyed. _Vance? _she mouthed in surprise. Ziva shrugged slightly. Picking up the thread of conversation, the Goth added her findings. "I can tell you why no father was listed on their birth certificates. Their father was someone who wouldn't want to be found out," she exclaimed, waiting a few seconds for dramatic effect. "Philip Davenport is both Katerina Sokolov and Dimitry Petrov's father! I ran his DNA against theirs and found the matches. What do you think about that? My babies really came through, didn't they?" she beamed, proud of her DNA results.

"I would guess the SecNav wouldn't want the American public to find out he was having children with a known KGB agent. Or that one of his children was an assassin and the other worked as a prostitute. It would raise a lot of questions and destroy his chance at running for President or holding any high-level political office," Vance mused. "He probably wouldn't even get to keep his position as Secretary of the Navy."

"I wouldn't vote for him," Jackson commented.

"Do you think Davenport had something to do with Katerina's death? I found some large withdrawals of cash around the time of her murder. Similar amounts were added into the accounts of Dimitry and Ivan Medved. Would he have his own daughter killed?" Tim wondered. "Would her brother be involved?"

"There were several years difference in age between Dimitry and Katerina; they might not have been close," Ziva offered. "And Dimitry is a paid killer. Blood ties often do not matter to people like him."

"Maybe the SecNav was afraid Katerina would let his secret out. He obviously didn't have much contact with her, so she could have been angry with him for not acknowledging he was her father," Abby suggested.

"Sounds plausible. McGee, David, find out where Petrov and Medved live; I'll get a warrant to search for any evidence linking them to Katerina. Maybe we can stir up something without Davenport finding out," Vance directed.

"This still doesn't seem like much to help us locate Tony and Gibbs," Ducky interjected. "I'm particularly worried about Anthony; his bullet wound is infected and he really needs to be on a strong antibiotic to prevent it from worsening. We need to find him quickly."

Vance tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "You two take a couple of hours to dig around; then we'll go pay the SecNav a visit. Let's rattle his cage and see what shakes loose. It can't hurt at this point," Vance determined. "If that doesn't work, we'll consider putting him under surveillance."

Everyone stood; Abby moved toward Vance. "Um, Director, I just thought I'd say, well, thank you for everything you're doing to get our guys back. I know you haven't always gotten along with them, especially Tony, so I, we, appreciate all you're doing now." Ziva, McGee, and Ducky all watched the fascinating exchange. Abby stepped into Vance's personal space; the Director leaned back slightly and stiffened. The dark-haired girl reached out and awkwardly wrapped her long arms around the man, who stood with his arms to his sides, unsure of how to react to the pretty Goth's hug. She patted him on the back gingerly.

"Thank you, Abby," Vance replied, finally giving her his own awkward pat. The look in his eyes was a mixture of fear and appreciation. Jackson chuckled at the uncomfortable moment.

"Ok," she said, stepping back. "Lets go find our boys!"

Vance shook his head. This team was good, but sometimes they were really strange.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The door to the room rattled then opened.

Gibbs stood, ready to face whatever Dimitry or Patrick, or whoever the hell was coming through that door, had to throw at him. It was worth it to save Tony, to save his team.

The weak light from the dim bulb barely reached the door leaving it encased in shadows, so it was difficult for him to make out who was actually standing on the landing. Quickly it became apparent there were two figures, and one was being shoved down the stairs toward him.

"Catch," Ivan said, and laughed mirthlessly before stepping back out and re-locking the door.

The lanky body bounced heavily on each step; it sickened him to watch the person's head flop then smack into the hard wood, arms and legs striking the stairs as the form tumbled down until coming to rest on the solid ground before him. Dark bruises were already forming on the pale and drawn countenance.

"Jesus, DiNozzo," Gibbs exclaimed, worry and fear etched on his face as he knelt beside the still body. Tony made no sound or movement, which was not a good sign for someone who had just been thrown down a flight of stairs. The stillness frightened Gibbs more than anything else could. He licked his lips and steadied his nerves before reaching out barely trembling fingers to check for a pulse. A long sigh passed his lips when he felt a heartbeat, fast and weak but steady, flutter through his fingertips. It was a welcome relief, but it didn't erase the fact that his partner was not in good shape.

It didn't take a medical genius to figure out that Tony was in the grip of a fairly high fever; sweat covered every exposed area of flesh, and his skin burned with a rosy hue. His face was now mottled with cuts, scrapes, and bruises from the trip down the stairs. Gibbs gingerly raised the t-shirt to evaluate his agent's abdomen; several dark spots were forming on his torso and the bandage covering the gun-shot wound was once again wet and red. And those were just the injuries he could see; it wouldn't be surprising to find some internal damage had occurred during his unpleasant arrival in the cellar.

Deciding not to move the younger man for the moment, Gibbs readjusted the sling into what he hoped was a more comfortable position and took his own jacket off to create a makeshift pillow which he eased under Tony's head. He frowned as a shiver shook through his friend, the violent shudder seeming to vibrate his entire form. The current development had taken a very bad situation and made it much, much worse. This was the exact outcome Gibbs had been afraid would happen and had found it impossible to prevent.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"This is not going to work out well," Dimitry stated flatly. "Too many people are involved now."

"Damn that sister of yours!Why couldn't she stay in Russia like she was told? I never wanted her here!" Davenport fumed. "If she had stayed away and kept her mouth shut none of this would have been necessary."

"She wanted to meet you. She wanted to know her father. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" Dimitry demanded.

"Like you? All either of you ever wanted was what I could give you. You support my political ambitions to advance yourself. It's why you helped eliminate Katerina," he accused. "You're just like your mother; users and manipulators."

"She's not the only one who possessed those traits. You do just fine with them, too. At least she tried to teach us something. You just ran off to live your own life with no regard for whether we lived or died," Petrov reminded him. "Maybe if you had helped her a little bit Katerina wouldn't have become a prostitute."

"I would have helped her if she had done as she was told. But I refuse to support someone who is willful and doesn't listen. You would do well to remember that," the SecNav seethed.

"Oh, I won't forget, father. I know exactly what I have to do to stay in your good graces," he agreed reluctantly. His life in Russia had been difficult, and had hardened him irrevocably. He would use his father to meet his own needs. He thought about Gibbs, and what the federal agent was willing to do for a man who was not even his own flesh and blood. No one had ever cared for him like that, definitely not the man in the room with him now. "What do you want done with our prisoners?" he finally asked.

"Let's see what they're willing to tell us about who they've talked to or any records they might have shared. I'd still like to find that damn picture. You do remember the questioning techniques you were taught?" the Secretary asked.

Dimitry smiled for the first time during the entire conversation. "Of course I do. I particularly look forward to trying some suggestive measures on Agent DiNozzo." He already disliked the federal agent; the fact DiNozzo had more of a father in Gibbs than he did in his own parent made him hate the man even more. "Ivan can loosen them up a little first then I'll take over from there," he said. "I'll keep you updated."

"You do that, Dimitry. We're going to have to proceed very carefully if we want to get out of this unscathed."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Every single cell in his body was hurting. He felt like he had been set on fire, stuck in a freezer, then run over by a truck. There really was no way to describe it rationally.

He could hear someone moaning and it was starting to annoy him. He wished the person would stop. It took several seconds for him to realize it was actually _him_ making the sound. He clamped his lips shut and told his body to stop trembling.

"Stop," he mumbled.

"Stop what?" someone asked. He wasn't alone.

"M..king….that….s…sound."

"DiNozzo, if you're awake, open your eyes for me," the person said.

"C..can't."

"You can. Now look at me," he ordered.

"B…boss?"

"Yeah, Tony." The tone was soft, kind. He could feel a hand gently kneading his arm. It sort of distracted from the nerve shredding agony he felt everywhere else.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," the field agent whispered.

Gibbs snorted, his demeanor not revealing the relief he felt at seeing Tony awake. "Are you gonna look at me or are we going to have this conversation with your eyes closed?" It was a practical way of looking at it, Tony thought.

The emerald eyes finally emerged from beneath the dark, heavy lids. The irises moved slowly before finally locking on to Gibbs.

"If I remember correctly I told you to stay put at Dad's. Guess you didn't listen to me." The Lead Agent was frowning.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he replied. "Guess you're still pissed at me."

"I'm not pissed, Tony, just worried. What happened to you?" he asked.

The Lead Agent's words didn't reassure him; he was sure he felt an underlying anger emanating from Gibbs. "Went back to your place and called the team. Ivan showed up; he hit your Dad and knocked him out. Ivan said they would kill you if I didn't come with him, so here I am," Tony's brain tried to remember what happened next. "The rest is kind of fuzzy. I must have passed out for a while. I did have a nice conversation with the SecNav; I think he likes me. Next, I woke up here feeling like I got stomped on by Godzilla."

"More likely a goon named Ivan," Gibbs corrected.

"I don't know how Jackson is; I didn't mean to get him hurt," Tony apologized. He was the one who used Jack to get back from Pennsylvania; he should've found a different way and not involved the elderly man.

"Dad's a tough old codger. It'll take a lot more than a knock on the head to keep him down. The point is you shouldn't have come back here when I specifically told you not to. Why did you call the team Tony? I asked you to leave them out of it."

Tony tried to shake his head, but barely made it move from side to side. "We needed help. At least they'll be looking for us, and checking out the SecNav. Maybe they'll come up with something while we're stuck in here."

"Maybe they'll get killed, too, Tony. Just look at you. I don't want that to happen to any of them."

"We risk our lives every day, Boss. You can't stop it if it happens. It's what we chose to do. Besides, it's not like you didn't need some help."

"The difference is what happens in our everyday jobs isn't my fault and this is. You should have stayed in Pennsylvania, Tony. You never should have come after me. You're going to get yourself killed."

"You told…me to stay…out of your business. I didn't listen….as usual. Can't take….no for an….answer. You know….me….better…..than that." He was starting to feel short of breath. His lungs didn't seem to want to expand correctly.

Gibbs sighed. He had no desire to continue arguing with DiNozzo. "Listen, Tony…."

A severe shudder passed through the field agent's body. His eyes rolled and he gasped for air like a landlocked fish. "Boss….I…." he panted harder, clutched Gibbs' arm. "Something's….wrong."

Gibbs stared, not entirely sure what to do. He placed a hand under Tony's arm and eased his friend into a sitting position, then sat down on the floor behind the man to hold him up. Tony grunted with the movement, but tried to keep himself under control. He couldn't find enough oxygen; nothing he pulled into his mouth and nose seemed to get through his airway to his lungs. They felt tiny, constricted, tight. The wrapping around his chest was like being gripped in a vice. He recognized that he was starting to hyperventilate as his panting grew harsher, faster. Despite his best effort, there was no way to stop the attack.

"Calm down," Gibbs demanded. "Calm down and breathe slowly. The air will come." The Lead Agent wasn't completely sure this was true, but he had to do something to help.

His boss' calm demeanor assisted Tony to tamp down the rising panic. He did as Gibbs requested; taking one slow breath after another, trying hard not to asphyxiate. The process was excruciating, the pain in his lungs unreal. He wanted to literally claw at the air around him. His fists unconsciously clenched and unclenched as darkness danced near the edges of his eyes. Slowly, minute after minute, he felt tiny streams of oxygen released into his lungs. "That's good, Tony. Take it easy; you're doing fine," the older man encouraged, grateful to see the agony slipping from DiNozzo's face. However, in its place was total exhaustion. His body hung useless and limp against Gibbs' chest.

"S..sorry, Boss. I…I…. don't know what…happened." Tony's voice was weak, lifeless.

"Don't worry about it, DiNozzo. It's not your fault," Gibbs wanted to move the sweaty hair out of Tony's face, but considering the current tension between them, he decided not to. "Do you want to lie back down?"

"Not now," he replied. He was aware of the fact he was leaning against Gibbs; normally it would have made him extremely uncomfortable. He still felt awkward, hating as always to show weakness in front of his boss, but the fear of suffocation overrode anything else. "I need to tell you something." His voice was little more than a murmer. The past few days had finally caught up with him; his strength was waning quickly under the weight of pain, fever, and fatigue.

Still, he managed a tired grin. "My ankle."

Gibbs frowned. "You hurt your ankle?"

Tony shook his head. Understanding dawned on his partner. "You still wearing your back-up? Nobody checked?" It was the best Tony could do to help Gibbs; he figured giving the ex sniper a weapon would be enough. The blue-eyed man was on his own in coming up with part two of the plan.

Now DiNozzo nodded. "Guess…. I don't look… very threatening."

Gibbs reached down and retrieved the weapon, tucking it in the waistband of his pants behind his back and covering it with his shirt.

"Still got….my knife….too, kemosabe." He indicated his belt with a slight nod.

Gibbs smiled broadly. "We might get out of this yet."

"You shoulda….known I'd have….a plan," the Senior Field Agent croaked.

"This was your plan? To hope you could get yourself thrown together with me and no one would pat you down first? What if they_ had_ decided to search you?" Gibbs couldn't hide his exasperation. "Was there a Plan B?"

"Didn't say….it was a… good plan," Tony replied. "No worse…than you running….over here like….Rambo and all." He struggled to stay upright; he didn't want to snuggle up to his boss any more than he had to. "Plan B…was to….. improvise."

"So I guess this somewhat idiotic plan makes us even for me coming here on my own," the Lead Agent declared.

Tony eyed him darkly, but said nothing. It was obvious he didn't think things were quite settled yet.

"Look, I know you don't understand why I felt I had to do this without you. Just take a look at yourself, DiNozzo. You're half-dead and that's my fault. Do you know what that's like to live with? If I could control you, you'd still be at Dad's house and nowhere near this mess." Gibbs shifted position so Tony could sit up straighter, trying to make sure the younger man's lungs weren't in any way compressed.

"You know what's best…right? It's…..for my own good. It hurts you…more than it does me. Save it, Gibbs…..I've heard it all…..before." Tony was still breathing in big, unnatural gasps.

Gibbs' hand hovered over DiNozzo's hair. At Tony's statement, he let it drop back down to his side. He could feel Tony leaning more heavily against him with each passing second. DiNozzo slowly moved his hand to his chest, blinked a few times, then closed his black-shrouded eyes.

Gibbs cradled Tony in his lap; if the young agent could see himself now he would probably never overcome the embarrassment. As his field agent pulled in a harsh gasp and coughed, Gibbs held him steady. There was a lot more he needed to say to Tony; a lot more he needed to get the younger man to comprehend. They just had to stay alive long enough for him to tell Tony what he knew his agent needed to hear.

Gibbs weighed the gun in his hand. _Some plan, DiNozzo, _Gibbs thought. But it had managed to get him armed again. This time, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot anybody and everybody who stood between him and getting DiNozzo the hell out of here.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: I played hooky from work today, so you get another chapter!**

**Gibbs and Tony make their escape...but it doesn't work out quite like they planned. Always remember, I know nothing about guns or medicine beyond what little research I do, so forgive any mistakes if you're an expert in those areas. **

**Thanks so much for your reviews! They really do brighten my day. Those of you who have followed all along are awesome (I look forward to you), and it's always nice to hear from someone new! Enjoy :)**

Ziva and McGee walked down the cracked sidewalk toward the worn out apartment building. Siding once painted white was now tinged grey, shutters hung askew, and even the grass was a dead, dirty brown. Nothing about the tenement conveyed a feeling of home, but instead struck a note of quiet desperation.

"Both Petrov and Medved listed their addresses here?" Ziva asked.

McGee kicked a solitary shoe out of his way. "Yeah, they did. It seems a lot of Russian immigrants, mobsters, and prostitutes live here. It was also the address of Katerina Sokolov."

"I remember," Ziva stated, wrinkling her nose at a strange scent that wafted from the open window of a ground floor apartment. The two agents located the address of Dimitry Petrov, announced their arrival and waited for an answer that did not come. Ziva swiftly picked the lock; they entered the nearly barren apartment and performed a quick but thorough search which turned up nothing. A repeat of the process for Ivan's apartment netted the same result.

Walking back toward their car, Ziva complained, "This was a complete waste of our time."

"Maybe not," Tim stated, noticing the young blonde girl who walked past their car for the second time in as many minutes. She was carrying what appeared to be a large square shoe box, which was nearly an acrobatic feat considering the height of the spiked heels on her shoes. Seeing them approach, she sat the box on the ground and leaned against the side of the car, lighting a cigarette. Ziva and McGee exchanged glances, not sure how to respond to the strange situation.

"You are friends of Tony? Yes?" she said as they drew near her.

"Yes, we are," Ziva replied cautiously. The heavily made-up girl couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. She spoke in thickly accented Russian.

"Good," the girl said. "The box is for him; tell him it is from Tania. He will remember me." She smiled, a mixture of wisdom and innocence that enhanced her beauty beyond her years. "It has papers that Katerina received from her mother. Kat left them with me for safe-keeping after her father threatened her. Tony should be able to use these documents to punish Kat's father for hurting her. I do not understand them all, but I know enough to see how damaging they will be." She threw the cigarette on the ground and smashed it with her sandal. "I have fulfilled my promise to Kat by giving them to you." She straightened, looked each of them in the eye. Ziva could sense the determination that outweighed any fear she might feel.

She moved as if to leave, then paused. "Tell Tony I am going back to Russia. I have family there who will help me to attend school. He was right; I do not have to live this life." She smiled again. "I hope this information helps him bring Katerina's killer to justice." Without another word she walked away.

"What do you think Tony said to her?" McGee asked.

"I do not know," Ziva answered. "But it obviously made an impression."

McGee knelt down by the box and lifted the lid to glance inside. He picked up a few of the papers and scanned through them. His eyes grew wide and he pursed his lips. "Look at this," he said to his partner.

Ziva took the documents and quickly read them over. "I cannot believe this little girl had these all along."

"We need to get this box to Director Vance. Now," McGee urged.

"I will drive," Ziva said as she and McGee climbed into the car. "Hold on, Tim." With the focus of a race car driver, she sped into traffic, plastering her partner to his seat as he cradled the precious cargo in his lap. For once, he didn't really mind that Ziva was tearing through the streets like a maniac cab driver, since it would get them back to NCIS headquarters that much faster.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony's chest burned like molten lava poured through the bullet wound. It hurt so much he wanted to scream with each small breath he took. But instead he bit his tongue and locked his jaw, unwilling to give in to the poker hot agony. The other aches and pains; in his shoulder, in his ribs where he fell down the stairs, they all took a backseat now to what was happening in and around the bullet wound. Sweat didn't bead on him, it poured out of his skin, drenching him like he had been outside in a torrential rainstorm. The sweat could have been from the fever, but it could just as easily have been from the silent exertion he was making not to cry out. Nothing mattered to him anymore except winning the continual battle to stay controlled and quiet. He grasped the handle of the small knife Gibbs had removed from his belt and placed in his pants pocket. Knowing it was there grounded him; it felt like a lifeline to hold on to for whatever was to come next. At the moment, Tony was considering whether to use it to put himself out of his misery.

Gibbs sat on the other side of the small cellar, watching his Senior Field Agent who was propped against the wall, teeth gritted, obviously struggling mightily against internal anguish that was beyond words. He observed the small red rash that dotted DiNozzo's neck and crept toward his jawline, the tiny dots indicative of the infection Gibbs suspected had spread throughout the young man's body. _Sepsis. _It was very often fatal, especially if left untreated, and the ex-marine had witnessed many brave young boys die from it during his time in combat. Without a boatload of antibiotics, there was nothing he could do to help Tony.

He would never, for as long as he lived, forgive himself for the outcome of this fiasco.

And, God forbid, should Tony die in this dark, lonely cellar, the silver-haired man had already decided to pull out the gun tucked in his waistband and go out with him. He would deserve it. Tony was here because of the younger man's unyielding support of him, his unwillingness to let Gibbs take on the demons of the world alone. There was no way he would ever walk out of that cellar without Tony; the marine in him refused to leave DiNozzo behind, one way or another.

But for now the federal agent waited, ready to do what he could to protect his friend, and if he got lucky, find the opportunity to kill Phillip Davenport for all he done to their lives.

Tony's eyes flew open and he gasped involuntarily, his hand flying to his chest. Gibbs shot across the room in a second. "What is it?" he asked, nearly afraid to hear the answer.

"I'm….I'm ok," Tony responded, once again biting down so hard on his teeth that Gibbs feared they would break. "Just a little pain; kind of caught me off guard." He smiled lopsidedly. "Not the most enjoyable way to wake up."

"A little pain, DiNozzo? You're all about understatement today. I've heard you whine more about a hangnail." For Tony's sake, he tried not to notice the way the pale man held himself stiffly, how his face scrunched up every few seconds when he moved too much or breathed in too hard.

"You know me, always a wallflower. I can't stand to be the center of attention," Tony chuckled, winced, then leaned his head against the wall. "Could you please just shoot me?"

Gibbs half-smiled. "Can't do that. It requires too much paperwork."

Tony's cloudy eyes re-opened. All the anger he had felt at Gibbs' was gone, replaced by resignation and acceptance. He could feel himself slipping away with every rapid beat of his heart, every strangled breath of his lungs. He needed to tell the boss something that didn't involve trust, keeping secrets, or the team. There was something even more important than those issues. If there was one last thing he got to say to his boss, it would be this.

_I am not your father. _The words still hung between them. Tony had to make them go away.

"About what you said before, at Jack's place."

Gibbs shook his head. "Tony, don't…."

DiNozzo cut him off. "We might never get out of this basement, Gibbs. Believe me, I know how much you like basements, but me, not so much," DiNozzo laughed uneasily.

"We're getting out of here, Tony. Together," the Lead Agent assured him.

Tony provided him with a tired smile. "I know you'll get me out of here, boss, if you can." He coughed some, grimaced, bit his lip. When he spoke again his voice was lower, more serious. "It doesn't change what I need to say."

"This can wait, Tony. Tell me when…when this is over, and you feel better."

The look in Tony's eyes said volumes; they spoke of the fact he knew he might not feel better any time soon. Staring down at his hands, he said, "I never meant to force you into taking my father's place. I guess, a part of me thought it would've been nice, to have a Dad like you. So when you didn't tell me to stop, I just let it continue." He looked up at Gibbs, eyes wide and misty. "I know you put up with a lot of crap from me that other people wouldn't stand for. And there were all those times you kind of took an extra interest in me; you know like when I got hurt, or lost, or did something particularly stupid. Sometimes I even convinced myself that…." he paused, unsure of whether to go on. But if he didn't say these things now, they might never get said. Gibbs was saying nothing, just staring at him, stony and silent. Tony didn't know how to take the agent's response, or lack-thereof, and pressed on. "I convinced myself that you didn't mind. That maybe you even liked the idea. But after the way you lost Kelly, I know that wasn't fair of me. I didn't do it on purpose, or even consciously, it just sort of…..happened."

He looked away, unable to maintain the unreadable blue gaze. He hoped the wetness in his eyes mingled with the sweat and dirt so Gibbs wouldn't notice. His emotional defenses were about as low as they could get.

Tony thought about his real father; how the man had said "I love you" to him. It had completely shocked the younger DiNozzo. He had spent the next few days trying to recall the last time his father had used those words; finally concluding it last happened when he was a child, at his mother's funeral. That was a long time to go without the comfort of a parent's love. He had told himself it didn't matter, he didn't care; but when he was being honest he knew it did matter, he did care.

But to transfer all that baggage onto Gibbs, that had been wrong, even if Tony didn't realize he was doing it until after he thought the Lead Agent had died. Not even the mighty Leroy Jethro Gibbs could withstand the onslaught of his decade's worth of insecurities. He turned his head back toward Gibbs, who was staring at him with an expression that Tony didn't recognize. The older man appeared confused and bewildered. "I should never have done that to you," Tony said softly. "I don't blame you for being fed up with me."

Gibbs reached out a steady hand and cupped Tony's chin, forcing him to not look away again. His grizzled heart clenched at the sight of the younger man's red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. It was a sight he had never witnessed before, in all his years of knowing Tony. He realized just how difficult it had been for the younger agent to admit those feelings, since Tony never discussed real emotions with anybody, especially not him. He knew Tony was always trying to put on a brave face for him, make him proud with a tough, hard-as-nails attitude to rival his own. Right now, locked in this basement with the possibility they might never get out, none of those things seemed important anymore. Tony had never seemed younger or more vulnerable.

And of course, he had misunderstood everything.

"DiNozzo," he started, but whatever words Gibbs wanted to share were lost in the sound of the metal key in the door, which swung inward bathing them both in a soft light. Dimitry, Ivan, and a man holding a semi-automatic weapon walked onto the landing.

"Good evening, gentlemen. It's time for us to have a little discussion," Dimitry stated, coming down the steps toward them. "I hope you're ready to tell me everything I want to know. If not, well, that's when the fun will really begin."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Vance continued to sift through the papers in the box. He was utterly amazed at what he was reading. In his hands he held documentation proving the SecNav had sold American secrets to the Russians for years, receiving millions of dollars in payment. Elena had kept everything, just as a good spy should. There was no way Davenport could refute the information; it was clear he had committed treason on numerous occasions.

"You said a young Russian girl just handed this to you?" he asked, taking the toothpick from his mouth.

"She wanted us to take the box to Tony. He must have talked to the girl before and convinced her to turn over the information," Ziva explained.

"DiNozzo, you are something else," the Director muttered under his breath. Gibbs had told him not to underestimate the man. Just when it looked like Tony was the laziest, most irritating goof-off in the bullpen he collared a traitor working right along-side them. And not just any traitor, but the damn Secretary of the Navy. Vance rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I need to make some calls; when this breaks it's going to be huge. It's not every day we take down the SecNav. I have to make sure everyone is prepared for this shitstorm."

"Then what?" McGee asked.

"Then we go to arrest Phillip Davenport. And hopefully find our agents."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"You seriously expect me to believe that you have no backup documentation? Nothing in a safety deposit box or mailed to a friend? You just waltzed in here cold with no leverage?" Dimitry stated skeptically.

"Exactly," Gibbs said. "So you have nothing to gain by questioning us. All you need is to keep me quiet and your problem is solved." Outwardly, Gibbs conveyed nothing but calm. Inwardly, he was praying they decided to just focus on him and leave DiNozzo out of it. He considered the gun tucked away at his back; right now it wouldn't benefit him to use it. The man with the automatic weapon would take out both him and Tony before he had a chance to fire a round. The timing of any action on his part would have to be perfect. As a sniper he had learned patience under pressure; that still didn't mean the waiting was easy.

"And what about you, Agent DiNozzo? Who have you informed about our little situation? Did you leave any orders to share what you had found if you disappeared for a few days? I have a feeling the lovely Ms. Scuito knows something. Maybe you could tell us before we ask her ourselves?" Dimitry glared at Tony, who was still sitting with his back propped against the wall. Ivan towered over him menacingly, his thick arms folded across his bear of a chest.

Adrenaline perked Tony up a little, but not much. "Name, rank, and serial number. That's all you're getting out of me, Colonel Klink," he replied glibly. "But if it's any consolation, I didn't know much to tell anyone. So I think you're in the clear with me and Ms. Sciuto."

Dimitry considered for a moment before turning back to Gibbs. "Is that all you have to tell me? Nothing more?"

Gibbs merely tilited his head and maintained his silence.

"Proceed," Petrov directed Ivan, who unfolded his arms and approached DiNozzo.

"Now look," Tony said, somewhat panicky. He wasn't afraid of being tortured or beaten, but he wasn't exactly up to par today. "You and I got off on the wrong foot, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends now." He laughed nervously. "Who's your favorite Care Bear? Me, I like Sunshine Bear, but you, you look like a Rainbow Bear kind of guy. What do you say? Which Care Bear best represents you?" Tony was rambling; his eyes flicked over to meet Gibbs' hard steel blue. The older man barely nodded, letting the field agent know he could handle this. As the one residing in his battered body, Tony didn't think he would be able to take very much. Ivan bent closer to him. Reaching out with the palm of his large, rough hand, the Russian suddenly pressed into the bandaged wound on Tony's chest with as much force as he could deliver.

DiNozzo's already pale skin blanched even whiter. He turned his head to the side and screwed his eyes shut. His fist pounded the floor. The already labored breathing grew faster, quicker. Just as he was regaining control, Ivan pressed down again, drawing a cry of pain from his lips before he could even think about stopping it. He pushed his body further into the wall trying to escape the source of the agony.

Dimitry stepped next to Gibbs, leaned in close, whispered softly in his ear. "You can stop this any time. Tell me where you have hidden the documentation."

Gibbs took a few steps away from Dimitry and closer to the man with the automatic weapon. Proximity was everything. He had to get within a few feet of the armed Russian.

"I told you, I have no documentation. We can do this all day if you want, and that fact won't change."

"You could watch us do this to your friend all day?" Dimitry asked smoothly. "I really don't think he would make it that long."

Tony was holding his injured shoulder. He glanced up, eyes bright in his sweaty, dirty face. "I can take anything you throw at me."

_Dammit, DiNozzo, just shut up for once, _the ex-marine willed.

Ivan grabbed Tony and pulled him upright. The agent leaned heavily against the wall for support. His vision swam, but he would be damned if he would pass out for these idiots. He glanced at Gibbs again. Surely the former gunnery sergeant would make a move soon.

Ivan stepped forward again. Tony saw the heavy fist swing and tried to brace himself, but it was no use. The blow struck him deep in his stomach, driving the already scant breath from his lungs and dropping him to his knees. Before he had time to recover, an impossibly large steel toed boot landed on his chest, knocking him back onto the floor. He heard a rib snap as starbursts of pain exploded through him stealing all conscious thought. He rolled and gasped as he tried to ride out the unrelenting anguish.

Gibbs took a few more precious steps toward the man with the weapon. "Beat on him all you want, I still won't tell you anything." The Lead Agent hoped by convincing Dimitry that he didn't care about what happened to Tony they would leave the younger man alone, maybe even focus on him instead. "He's a screw-up anyway. If he hadn't gone and stuck his nose in all this you'd still think I was dead and I wouldn't be in this mess."

Dimitry laughed. "I don't think I believe you, Agent Gibbs. You recall our earlier conversation. The problem is I already know your relationship with Agent DiNozzo. We'll see how much you can stand to watch."

Gibbs shrugged nonchalantly. "Won't matter. I've been trying to get rid of him forever. You'll just be saving me the trouble."

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was Gibbs saying those things? Did he mean them? His confusion growing, Tony was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate. Words and sounds reverberated through his mind; rationally he knew the boss didn't mean it, but why was he saying it? Maybe it was what he really thought, maybe…

Ivan grabbed Tony's hair and pulled the young man up again, forcing a whimper from his throat. _Dammit, I sound like a little girl, _the agent admonished himself. Tony reached out with his one arm to find the wall and attempt to stand. Before his legs could buckle, Ivan moved behind him and wrapped his beefy arm around DiNozzo's neck, squeezing harshly. Tony feebly scrabbled at the arm with his hand, trying to pull it away. Blood pounded in his ears as he found himself once more unable to breathe.

Gibbs moved forward. He was close enough to the armed Russian that he could reach out and touch the man. Dimitry stood to his left, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched Tony struggle against Ivan's grip. "Are you ready to do what it takes to make this stop, Agent Gibbs? It will only take a few minutes for Ivan to crush your friend's throat. Do you want to be responsible for that?"

The former marine carefully placed his hand behind his back.

Through his now hazy vision, Tony saw the movement and dropped his own hand to his pocket, grasping the hilt of the small knife.

Within seconds it was over. Gibbs pulled the gun from his waistband and shot the armed man in the temple. In one movement he dropped the pistol and grasped the limp arm holding the semi-automatic, aimed the weapon at Dimitry, and fired. Petrov had barely processed what was happening before he felt bullets ripping through him, tearing his body apart as he toppled to the floor.

Ivan gaped at the unfolding event, loosening his grip on Tony's neck slightly. With little strength remaining, DiNozzo pulled the knife from his pocket and jammed it into Ivan's neck. The burly man screamed and let go of Tony, who stumbled back and fell into the wall. Ivan pulled the knife from his neck, blood spurting down his thickly corded muscles. The Russian roared gutterally, taking his own gun from its holster. Before he could aim, a hail of gunfire cut across his chest, leaving him gaping at his suddenly bloody shirt. He stared up at Gibbs, still holding the gun, before crumpling to join his partner on the ground. The ex-marine observed the carnage; three men dead and Tony slumped over clutching his chest and gasping pitifully.

"You're a scary man, boss," Tony said, before sliding the rest of the way to the floor.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Ziva paced the bullpen. McGee studied the schematic of the SecNav's house and grounds he had downloaded. Both waited impatiently for Vance to finish making his contacts and move forward with the arrest. Minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace.

Once again Ziva checked her weapon and adjusted her bullet-proof vest. "This is maddening!" she exclaimed. "Why is he making us murder time?"

McGee tugged at his own vest and sat down on the edge of his desk, "It's _kill_ time, Ziva. This is American politics we're dealing with. That makes it complicated." He sighed. "But I really wish he would hurry."

Tim glanced up as Vance left his office and trotted down the stairs, slipping into his own bullet-proof vest and tightening the straps. "Everything's ready," he said.

"You are going in with us?" Ziva asked, surprised.

"Nobody messes with my agents and gets away with it, Agent David. Not even the Secretary of the Navy." He headed toward the elevator. McGee gave Ziva a shocked but appreciative look. "Are you two coming?" the Director questioned impatiently.

"On it," McGee replied, as they followed behind him, grateful to finally take some action to help find Gibbs and Tony.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

They had to move. Fast. Even though Dimitry and Ivan were dead, the gunfire was sure to bring someone else; security guards, Davenport, someone. Gibbs leaned over Tony, seeing the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Still breathing, still alive.

"Come on, DiNozzo, we've got to go."

Emerald eyes fluttered open, and within them Gibbs could see the exhaustion and pain, the question of when this nightmare would end. "We gotta move now, Tony. They'll be coming soon," he explained, unsure if he could carry DiNozzo out of the cellar if the younger man couldn't get up on his own.

Then, like clouds lifting to reveal a sunny day, he saw the resolve return. The fight. The spirit that could not be squelched by a dead mother, a neglectful father, loneliness, disappointment, or even a selfish, arrogant, misguided Marine. It was a spirit that would not break, that many a soldier would have longed to possess. The fact it resided in this fancy-suit wearing, hair-gelled, eternally adolescent man made Gibbs smile despite the situation. The look was pure Tony.

"Let's go," DiNozzo choked out through dry, bloody, and cracked lips.

_Hoo-Ra,_ Gibbs thought, hoisting the injured man off the floor as gently as possible. "I told you I'd get you out of this basement," the Lead Agent reminded him, herding his friend toward the staircase.

"Never doubted it…..for a minute," the field agent replied.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Vance was driving. They were accompanied by several other cars filled with agents. Ducky was riding along, hoping to provide assistance should they find Tony at the Secretary's estate.

The Director took a corner on two wheels. McGee braced himself, proficient at staying upright and in place after years of on the job training. It was obvious Vance had attended the Leroy Jethro Gibbs School of Driving.

Checking the rearview mirror, Vance said, "If you throw up in this car you're cleaning it out, McGee."

The junior agent swallowed, "I stopped puking a couple of years ago. I'm good."

"You better be," Vance remarked.

They pulled up to the gate of Davenport's home. A security guard stepped over to greet them. "Is the Secretary expecting you?" he asked cautiously, eyeing the small caravan of cars.

"No, and we plan on keeping it that way. I have a federal warrant for the Secretary's arrest. You need to open the gate and stay with one of these gentlemen."

Two agents moved in beside the guard. The young man shifted nervously. "Um, maybe I should call someone."

"That won't be necessary," Vance ordered. One of the agents opened the gate as the other monitored the anxious young man. "Thank you, son," Vance said, as the group of cars entered the estate.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Philip Davenport sat behind his desk smoking a cigar. He held a silver lighter in his hand, opening and closing the lid absently. His name was etched into the lighter with gold letters, along with his title. It had been given to him by a friend upon his appointment as Secretary of the Navy.

All his life he had worked to achieve success. He had been driven to go as far as possible at whatever cost he had to pay, both professionally and personally. In his opinion, it had been worth it. He was respected, admired, even revered. He loved wielding power, and he didn't intend to let two minor level players like Gibbs and DiNozzo screw it up for him. His thoughts drifted to Dimitry, his son, and whether he was capable of handling the situation with the NCIS agents. "Probably not," he said aloud. It was his experience that most serious issues were better handled personally. Reaching into the drawer, he took out a small radio and his personal Sig.

He stood and headed for the door, intending to take matters into his own hands.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Getting Tony up the stairs and out of the cellar had required monumental effort from the two men. After a great deal of grunting and groaning on both their parts, they exited the door to find themselves in a small carriage house that was, thankfully, empty. The building seemed to mainly be used for storage, but contained several small horse stalls and bales of hay. Gibbs helped settle Tony onto a nearby haybale, then moved to an open window to determine their next move.

A tree line adjoined the property about 500 feet across an open lawn. At this point, no one appeared to be approaching. Making it to the shelter of the trees and woods beyond was their best option. A soft thump behind Gibbs interrupted his planning. "DiNozzo," he said, turning to find the field agent lying on the floor, unconscious. He tapped the younger man on the cheek, receiving no response other than a low moan.

Growing older was not something Gibbs thought about much, but right now it was a major problem. Tony was not a small man, and getting the dead weight of his young friend across the open field to the tree line would not be an easy task for him. He considered his options and settled on a fireman's carry. He deposited the rifle on top of the hay before starting. Rolling DiNozzo onto his stomach, he lifted the man onto his knees and then into a standing position. Raising Tony's arm he ducked beneath it, moving to his front and kicking his legs apart. Bringing his friend's arm up again, Gibbs bent down and leveraged the larger man up and onto his own shoulders, distributing his weight as evenly as possible. The silver-haired man felt his bad knee give a little, but willed it back into position before swiping the rifle off the bale of hay.

"When this is over, you're going on a diet," he whispered, sliding out the door toward the safety of the trees.

A few feet out a guard approached, gun raised. Seeing the fleeing men, the guard grabbed his radio, "I've spotted trespassers. We need extra security at the carriage house now!"

Gibbs turned at the sound, using his right arm to raise his own weapon and aim, taking out the security guard before the man could fire his own shots. Gibbs readjusted DiNozzo's weight and continued onward, the line of trees far in the distance. Logically, he knew their chance of making it that far were slim to none, but the ex-marine wouldn't quit despite the odds against them. Silently, he prayed for a miracle.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Davenport walked briskly across his property, enjoying the feel of the gun in his hands. White clouds rolled overhead through the pale blue sky. It was a beautiful day, a perfect day to take another bold step toward securing his future. The radio in his pocket squawked, and he fished it out in time to hear the call for more security. "Dammit," he cursed, breaking into a jog, hoping to reach the carriage house before Gibbs and DiNozzo were able to escape.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Where is he?" Vance demanded. He had ordered the other agents to search the perimeter and the interior of the house.

The chief of security shook his head. "I have no idea. He was in his office. Maybe he went for a walk." A radio clipped to the side of the security officer's belt squealed. The guard's message about "trespassers" was broadcast to the entire room.

"That has to be them," Ziva observed. "Take us to the carriage house. Now!"

The security chief hesitated, before deciding it was best to cooperate. These were federal agents with a warrant, after all. "Follow me," he said, leading them outside.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Gibbs was struggling. Ten years ago, he could've run the distance while carrying an injured man. Now, he was barely managing to stay upright. The problem could be that he had hardly slept in, how long? Hours? Days? He honestly didn't know the last time he had eaten anything. Exhaustion nibbled at his strength. But it didn't matter; he had to keep going for Tony's sake.

A sudden force knocked him forward, catching him off guard. He stumbled, lost his balance, felt DiNozzo's weight abruptly shift. Gibbs tried to keep the younger man from falling, but it was too late and they were both tumbling to the ground. Tony let out an "Ooomph," as he impacted the hard earth.

The Lead Agent felt a strange burning sensation in his side; reaching down he felt something warm and sticky. Blood. It covered his hand, poured from an opening in his abdomen. He looked up to see Davenport approaching quickly, Sig raised in his hand. He had dropped his own weapon when he fell. He could think of nothing else to do.

Gibbs glanced at Tony, who rolled over and moaned softly, green eyes blinking in the blinding sun. If the older man had the chance, he would break his own rule, he would apologize. At the moment all he could think about was how he wanted the chance to say he was sorry, that he should have done more, should have done better. He should have never let Tony go on thinking he was dead, and allowed the field agent to have his six. In a moment of clarity, he realized that sometimes to apologize wasn't a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength. _Too little, too late._

Black clouds rolled across his vision, slowly covering up the bright sun and blue sky, the prone body of his friend. His bloody hand falling limply to his side, Gibbs closed his eyes and saw no more.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"NO!" Ziva screamed, as they turned a corner in time to see Davenport raise his weapon and fire at Gibbs, who fell forward and hit the ground, dropping Tony in the process. The agents pulled their guns and ran, trying to get in range to stop the SecNav before he could reach their friends. Ziva fired off a round, but she was still too far out to hit him. The Secretary turned at the sound, but didn't hesitate as he was nearly on top of the fallen agents.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Davenport turned at the reverberation of a gunshot. Vance and his team were running toward him, firing shots. _"It's over,"_ he realized. Everything. Hopes. Dreams. Plans.

Over.

In a heartbeat he decided. The two men in front of him would die. They would pay for destroying all that he had built. _They would pay. _He would end it for them all.

He walked up to Gibbs, bleeding out on the ground.

"Goodbye, Jethro. I should have done this myself months ago. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble." His finger tensed on the trigger as he aimed at the Lead Agent's head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: It's time to deal with the SecNav! And we still have some important conversations between Tony and Gibbs to work out their issues. A lot of hurt/comfort coming up! Remember, 12 chapters, and I promise in the last one we have (I think) a good wrap-up to the Gibbs/Tony situation. Grab your hankies! (Also, no medical or weapons background. Forgive my mistakes!)**

**I can't tell you how heart-warming your reviews have been! Hearing from so many of you is really encouraging and I appreciate it so much (Gadgetgirl….review again so I can answer your question)!**

**Let me know what you think :)**

Tony awoke to a bone-jarring thud. He blinked, swallowed, tried to find his bearings. Turning his head to the side he saw Gibbs, lying on the ground a few feet away, eyes closed, not moving. Blood pooled beneath him, covered his side, drenched his shirt. "No," DiNozzo mumbled. "No."

Footsteps approached. Davenport stepped to Gibbs' side, said something Tony couldn't hear. The SecNav aimed a weapon at his boss. Adrenaline, terror, desperation flared within DiNozzo all at once. He lurched himself from the ground, personal pain and suffering no longer considerations in his frantic attempt to save Gibbs.

This could be his last act on earth, but it didn't really matter. He had experienced life with his father-figure dead already, and he wasn't interested in a repeat performance. If nothing else they could go out together, Butch and Sundance all the way.

The gun. Tony reached for Gibbs' weapon, which lay within inches of his fingers. There should have been no energy left in his body to even move, but somewhere inside an extra reserve kicked in. He picked up the gun, struggled to his knees, aimed as steadily as he could with one arm, and fired.

The shot went awry, knocking him flat on his back, but it was enough to get the other man's attention. Davenport turned and looked at him, the weapon he was holding moving from Gibbs' unconscious body to train on DiNozzo instead.

_Good, _Tony thought. _Good. Leave him alone and come to me._

"You snot-nosed shit," the Secretary spat, moving a few steps closer to Tony. "Would you just die already?" The Sig was now pointed directly in his face. A shout from behind Davenport caught his attention; he looked up and over his shoulder. Another gunshot cracked through the air, narrowly missing the bald man, who for the first time frowned in fear.

Tony thought about praying, but he didn't do it on a regular basis so it seemed rather disingenuous to start now.

"Maybe I will die," DiNozzo whispered. He had so little strength; death did indeed appear to be a definite possibility. "But not because you killed me."

Tony had managed to maintain his grip on the weapon; he curled his finger around the trigger. The gun was tucked out of sight beside his hip; he knew there would be no second chances if he didn't hit his mark. He had to make the moment count. In one smooth motion, he raised the gun and fired again. The recoil pushed him completely into the ground. Davenport was standing so close there was no way Tony could miss; the shot hit the SecNav directly in the chest. The older man pressed his hand into the bloody wound, stared as the red substance spread down his shirt.

"You fucking asshole," the Secretary snarled, aiming at Tony once more. This time there would be no reprieve.

Everything happened at once. DiNozzo shut his eyes and waited expectantly for the gun to fire and the bullet to penetrate his skull. But the bullet missed; he heard it strike the ground near his head at the same time as more shots sounded in succession. Opening his eyes, Tony watched Davenport jerk and twitch; the SecNav's eyes grew wide, he opened his mouth and grunted from the force of several bullets burrowing into his back.

Tony didn't know who had shot the bastard, but he allowed himself one small smile at the shocked look on the Secretary's face as the older man fell. "See how you like it," he said through clenched teeth.

He turned back toward Gibbs. Standing was not an option, so with every ounce of energy he retained, he used his one arm to slowly pull himself over to his boss' side. Seconds stretched into eternity before he finally reached the Lead Agent's bloody frame.

"Gibbs?" he asked, painfully reaching out his hand to shake the silver-haired man. _Please don't be dead._ "Don't do this to me now, boss. Not now." Blood was running freely onto the ground; something major must have been damaged. There was no way for him to tell if the boss was still breathing; he might already be gone. "You were going to tell me something before. If you die, I'll never know what it was. I need you to stick around, ok?" He shook Gibbs again, but the older man didn't respond. "Don't die on me, boss."

Images blurred; he swayed. He thought he might be crying, but he wasn't sure. The wetness on his face could have been sweat, or blood, or tears, or all three; he didn't know. All he knew was that after everything, after all they had been through, Gibbs really was gone, and there was nothing he could do to save him.

A hand gripped his shoulder to steady him. Tony turned. Unfocused faces stared down with strange expressions. "Not now," he repeated. And then he was falling, cool dark air embracing him, his mind going blank as he slumped over his boss' body, face pressed into the bright, red blood.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Heaven help us," Ducky said quietly, for a moment paralyzed by the scene before him. Tony lay stretched across Gibbs' chest; both men covered in the Lead Agent's blood. "We must get that bleeding stopped."

"Ambulances are on the way," McGee reported, shutting his phone.

"Not soon enough. Help me move Tony off him," the ME directed. McGee and Vance gently lifted DiNozzo, laying him on the ground a few feet from Gibbs.

McGee knelt at his partner's side, taking out a handkerchief and wiping some of the blood, _Gibbs' blood_, from his face. Dark bruises and purple shadows lay underneath. "God, Tony," he sighed.

Ziva was kneeling beside Davenport. "He is dead," she announced.

Vance removed his jacket so Ducky could use it to press into Gibbs' openly bleeding wound. "How long on that damn ambulance?" Ducky yelled.

"They said ten minutes," McGee answered. He looked down, startled, as Tony started making a strangled, garbled sound. DiNozzo's chest heaved and he gasped, trying to find air. His eyes flew wide while his fist clutched at McGee's shirt. "What's happening Ducky?" McGee cried frantically, clutching at Tony's hand, not knowing what to do.

"He can't breathe. Ziva get under him and lift his head up. Try and support his airway," the ME directed, afraid to leave Gibbs' side as he pressed the red-soaked material of Vances's jacket into the agent's abdomen.

"Yes, Ducky," she said, doing as the physician instructed. "It is ok, Tony," she soothed, stroking his dirty, matted hair as she held his head up on her lap. "We are here. You will be alright now." He continued to pant, but the choking subsided. His eyes slid shut again; McGee wasn't sure if he was ever aware of their presence.

"I'll go meet the EMT's," Tim offered, trotting off toward the gate. He honestly couldn't watch two of his best friends struggle for survival any longer. He didn't recall seeing _prolonged emotional distress _in the job description when he applied at NCIS. Feeling like your guts were being torn out on a regular basis was obviously an overlooked hazard of the job.

Precious minutes passed in near silence, save for the haggard breaths of DiNozzo, Ziva's whispered words of comfort, and Vance and Ducky's hushed efforts to staunch the Lead Agent's bleeding wound.

"They're here," Vance finally stated, relief evident in his voice, when McGee rushed back across the field with several sets of paramedics in tow.

Where once there was quiet, a buzz of activity now took over. Friends were pushed aside as the medical personnel went to work. Vance stared down at his blood covered hands, wondering if he should wipe them on his pants or just leave them alone. He tried to wipe them off, but only succeeded in smearing the sticky substance around.

Ziva and McGee watched in shocked concern, listening carefully for any comments to indicate the true conditions of their colleagues. Ziva stood on tiptoe, peering around the backs of the emergency workers, frustrated that she couldn't tell what was happening.

"We just got him back. He cannot die again," the Israeli said, following every movement surrounding Gibbs. "Tony was right. Not now."

Gibbs was transported first, his condition most critical. Ducky stopped briefly to inform them he would be riding along in the ambulance with the silver-haired man. He asked Vance to go with Tony. The Director agreed, but before leaving he stared hard at the two remaining agents. "I need you to secure this scene," he requested. Ziva opened her mouth to protest. "You don't have to process it, just keep it secure until I get another team over here. Then come to the hospital."

"We can do that," McGee agreed. "Just call us if… we need to know anything." He couldn't say the thought that he and Ziva silently shared. _If one of them doesn't make it._

Vance nodded. "I can do that," he replied and smiled reassuringly. "They'll be fine. I've never met any more stubborn sons-of–bitches in my life. They'll be fine."

Following along behind the gurney, he tried to believe the reassurance himself.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Dr. Mallard walked wearily into the waiting room where the team was gathered. Abby had stopped by to pick up Jackson, who now joined Vance, Ziva, and McGee. Even Jimmy Palmer had driven over to take his place in the vigil. Hospital staff kept staring at the motley assortment of individuals, from the Goth princess to the well-dressed African-American, curious as to how they all came to be waiting there together. Each bore the signs of stress and exhaustion; worn faces and darkened eyes were the norm. Coffee cups, soda cans, Caf-Pows, half-eaten candy bars, and discarded magazines littered the small area. No one sat still for long.

Abby was the first to notice the elderly physician's approach. "Ducky!" she exclaimed, alerting the others to his presence. He smiled as they gathered around for his report.

"Jethro is out of surgery and doing quite well," he delivered, squeezing Jackson on the arm. The older Gibbs let out a sigh of relief. "There was some damage to a major artery, which accounted for all the blood loss, but the surgeons have successfully repaired the injury. He is on his way to recovery and should be in a room within a few hours. All of you can have a short visit with him then. Of course, Jackson will have much more liberal visiting privileges."

"Thanks, Ducky," Jack supplied. "So, how's Tony?"

"Ah, our young lad has to be a bit more difficult. But then, when has Anthony ever made things simple?" he mused.

"What is wrong?" Ziva demanded.

"The lesser of our worries is a partially collapsed lung he suffered from a fractured rib, which I would guess occurred while he was a guest of the SecNav. The doctors have inserted a chest tube to relieve the air pocket and allow the lung to re-inflate. The tube will have to remain in place for several days," he explained.

He removed his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt, a nervous habit the ME completed when stressed. Putting the glasses back on, he continued. "Of greater concern is the infection he has developed in the bullet wound. It has progressed into sepsis, otherwise known as a blood infection. The condition is attacking his organs, primarily his already weakened lungs. If the infection isn't brought under control, it could lead to multi-organ failure, which I fear is often fatal."

"Fatal?" Abby repeated. The death grip she had on McGee's hand tightened. "What are they doing, Ducky? Is he going to be alright?"

"The doctors are doing everything possible. The bullet wound has been re-opened, cleaned, and a drain put in place to remove any fluids and pus. He is receiving a variety of powerful intravenous antibiotics. Other than that, they will work diligently to maintain functioning of the effected organs until he fights off the infection." He patted her arm affectionately. "Our boy won't give up, Abigail. It might take him a few days in his debilitated state, but he'll pull through this. Try not to worry."

"You're right, Ducky. Positive thoughts." Abby repeated the mantra to herself.

"Can he have visitors yet?" Vance asked.

"He's in ICU, so only two at a time, and for only a few minutes each visit. Come with me and we'll get all of you in to see him."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony had only been in the Intensive Care Unit for several hours and he already wished the nurses would go away and leave him alone. They were around constantly; checking this, looking at that, poking, prodding, sticking him with anything and everything. He honestly didn't think the ICU was necessary; a regular room would have been just fine. Although he was grateful for the pain medication; the agony he felt earlier was down to a tolerable level.

He actually felt like the Bionic Man. He loved the television show when he was a kid, and even had an action figure that could be attached to all of the equipment needed to make a bionic man function. Right now, he had to be hooked to at least that many monitors. He wondered if that made him worth six million dollars. He doubted Vance would pay that much for his sorry ass.

They had inserted a chest tube, which, although painful, he had to admit made breathing a little easier. Not easy, but better. It felt weird, and looked even weirder, poking out of his skin like something from _Alien_. Thankfully, he had been unconscious when they put it in, so he didn't remember the procedure. He tried not to move in order not to disturb it. A nasal cannula rested gently against his nose, the tubing draped across his cheeks and disappearing behind his head. That helped, too. But even then, there were moments when all the oxygen in the room seemed to disappear and his head started swimming. He should probably ask someone about that when he got a chance.

A catheter had been stuck in his neck next. They said something about using it to monitor blood pressure, heart rate, adding fluids. He wasn't sure exactly, but he didn't like it. Tony figured it was just another way to suck some extra cash out of the NCIS insurance carrier. The extra IV was taped down to keep it in place and it itched. The tubing for that disappeared somewhere above his head, too. On the lower end of things, a Foley catheter had been inserted so they could monitor his urine output. A nurse came in several times an hour to check the little bag attached to the bed for any yellowish gold liquid that might have collected. It was disturbing to have so many people interested in his pee.

Heart function was always a hot topic in the ICU, so leads had been attached to various parts of his anatomy in order to alert someone if there were any cardiac issues. When he wiggled he could feel them adhered to his hips, his chest, his abdomen. As he listened to the soft but fast beeping of the machine next to the bed he guessed those might actually be necessary. Even he could tell the rhythm wasn't as slow and steady as it should be. He tried not to let the sound worry him.

Then there was the bullet wound. A doctor had appeared and explained that it needed to be opened and the infection drained. He had expected to be knocked out for the process, but instead they gave him a local anesthetic, and he got to be semi-conscious for the entire event. Even with the pain medication it had hurt, and when it was over they left a clear drainage bulb inserted as a parting gift. The see-through plastic ball was slowly filling with a pinkish fluid that he diligently avoided looking at.

Add in the IV taped to the back of his hand, the blood pressure cuff that got inflated every fifteen minutes whether he needed it or not, the pulse ox monitor stuck to his finger, and the sling that kept his left arm from moving, and he felt worthy of Bionic Man status. It had looked a lot more fascinating on television.

Another nurse materialized at his bedside. "Hey, there, Tony. I just need to check your temperature." She placed a thermometer in his ear, waited for the readout. "You're still up there. Holding steady at 102.5. Would you like some ice?"

"Sure." His voice shocked him. It was so tiny and small. It had taken monumental effort to say the one syllable.

He tried to raise his head from the pillow, but found it wouldn't move. Not an inch. "Here," she said, lifting his head and holding the ice against his lips until he managed to open them and let her pop the quenching substance into his mouth. Once again, the simple procedure had required almost Herculean effort. He was weighed down by exhaustion.

He thought about saying thank you, but it seemed like such a difficult task that he only nodded slightly and closed his eyes. The nurse placed a comforting hand on his warm forehead. "If you need anything, I'll be right here. My name's Marjorie."

Maybe the ICU wasn't such a bad place after all. Marjorie seemed nice enough, and knowing she would be back in fifteen minutes was a little reassuring. Not being strong enough to move his head or speak was a little scarier than he cared to admit. Bone-weary fatigue swept over him. He decided to let Marjorie have his six, stopped fighting and, for a few minutes at least, allowed sleep to creep in.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Abby and Ziva commandeered the first official ten minute visit.

"I wish he would wake up." Abby bit her lip. "I know it's selfish, and he needs to rest, but I really want him to know we were here."

Ziva smiled at her from the other side of the bed. "It is best to let him sleep. The nurse will tell him we came."

"He just looks so…..un-Tony-ish. And all this stuff." She swept a hand over all the monitors, tubes, and equipment. "He hates this kind of thing."

Ziva gently moved a stray piece of hair off his face. His normally handsome features were puffy and swollen, mottled with dark purple bruises and scrapes. She recalled when they had pretended to be husband and wife; Tony had taken quite a beating to the face then, too. It was before she knew him well, when she still saw him as more of an irresponsible playboy. But it was also when she had started to realize there was more to him than what he revealed on the surface. It was the first time, although not the last, he had been willing to die for her.

She felt very different about him now. Ziva wondered if the same situation were to occur today, would she react the same way? Would she be able to walk out of that hotel room and leave him to face possible death, alone? She did not think she would.

"Do you think I could hug him?" Abby asked nervously. "Just a little?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, we must not disturb him. We will get to come back again later; maybe he will be awake then."

Abby dug through her purse, pulling out a post-it note and black sharpie. Leaning over the small table, she quickly scribbled a note and stuck it to the bottom of the monitor stationed by Tony's bed. Ziva smiled. The note said, _We love you Tony. Get well soon. _A small skull and cross-bones was drawn at the bottom; he would have no trouble identifying the author.

Ziva walked around the bed and placed her arm across the Goth's shoulder. "It will make him smile," she said comfortingly. Gazing down at her friend, she frowned. "He must be dreaming."

Tony's eyes were moving rapidly beneath the shadowy lids. He shifted slightly, a low moan escaping his dry lips. Abby's own eyes filled with tears, and she looked up at Ziva, refusing to say what they were both thinking. "_Positive thoughts," _she reminded herself._ "Positive thoughts."_

"You'll be fine, Tony," Abby whispered. "You are going to be fine."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

_Tony was in the center of a room surrounded on every side by doors. Everywhere he turned was another door. It was like being in a fun-house maze, except he wasn't having any fun._

_His father was standing behind him. He was dressed impeccably, as always, a charcoal grey suit and cranberry tie perfectly contrasting with his healthy tan and white hair. "Hey, Junior," he said. Tony blinked, and in an instant his father was twenty-five years younger; dark hair, dark suit, slim and athletic build. The imposing figure Tony remembered from his youth. "I gotta go now, Junior. You understand, don't you? It's for your own good." Two beautiful women, one blonde and the other brunette, flanked either side of him. He held a drink in his hand; he smiled charmingly. "I'll be in touch."_

_"Don't go," Tony said. "Stay with me." His voice was much younger, higher, the voice of a young boy._

_"I can't son. It's nothing personal; I just have more important things to do. Stop being so needy and show some appreciation for the all the fine things I've given you." He led his beautiful companions toward one of the doors and opened it. _

"_But you don't understand," Tony said. "I never wanted your possessions. I only wanted you."_

"_There are some things in life you can't have, Tony. It's time for you to grow up and accept that." He smiled brightly at the gorgeous women. "See you around, Junior," he said, and shut the door behind him._

_Tony stood there feeling lost and alone, not sure of what to do. A door on the other side of the room opened and Gibbs walked out. Tony heaved a sigh of relief; his boss would take care of everything._

_"He's right, you know. It's time to grow up. I'm not your father, Tony. You're just a screw-up and I've been trying to get rid of you for years now," he said._

_"But I thought…" _

_The blue-eyed agent walked toward him gazing steadily. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, but the way you chase after me, jump at the sound of my voice, it's pathetic. Be a man, DiNozzo." He slapped Tony on the back of the head. Hard. It wasn't the smack of affection he was used to, but it conveyed annoyance, aggravation, anger. How Tony could tell the difference he didn't know, but it was there. He never wanted to feel a slap like that again._

_"I tried to retire but had to come back because you couldn't handle things. You were given the assignment to protect Jenny and let her get killed. I can't trust you to have my six, so I just have to go off and handle problems on my own." He looked down at his hands, blood covered them, covered his shirt, poured from a gaping hole in his side._

_"See what I mean? You screwed up and let me get shot, too, trying to save you. You can't even follow a simple order to stay put." He stepped toward another door, opened it. "Don't follow me this time, DiNozzo. Quit trying to use me to replace your own father. It's disgusting."_

_"Wait!" Tony yelled. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean for this to happen!"_

_Gibbs had already closed the door, and no matter how hard Tony tried, he couldn't pull it back open. Blood seeped from under the door, covering his bare feet, spreading across the floor until it was an ocean and he was drowning in the thick red liquid. It filled his mouth and ran down his throat, choking him, cutting off his screams._

"No! Wait, Gibbs! No!"

"Tony, wake up. You have to wake up now. Everything's ok, it's just a dream." Marjorie shook him carefully, trying to stop him from thrashing around before he hurt himself.

His eyes shot open. How could he have forgotten about Gibbs getting shot? Was the Team Leader dead? No one had told him what happened.

"Wh…where's Gibbs?" he asked urgently. "Did…he die? Blood there's so..…so much blood." He was trying to get up, frantically looking for someone to tell him about his boss. Why wasn't Gibbs with him? He always stayed when Tony got hurt. The chest tube yanked at his side, the neck catheter pinched and tugged. Marjorie quickly pulled the rails up on the side of the bed so he couldn't get past them. He tugged the sheet down and pushed shakily up with his arm.

"Is he….dead? Please tell me …..tell me he didn't die."

"Tony, listen to me, your heart rate and blood pressure are spiking. You have to calm down. I don't know who you're talking about, but I'll find out for you." The nurse tried to reason with him as he gasped for air. She placed a firm hand on his shoulder and attempted to hold him still. An alarm started to sound.

"He was mad at me and I let him die. I screwed up and got him shot." He stared desperately at Marjorie, trying to make her understand. "It was my fault. No wonder…no wonder he didn't trust me." The heart monitor raced like mad, his chest shuddered up and down; the movement jarred his fractured rib and scapula and sent tendrils of pain through his nervous system. But he didn't care. He had let his boss die. Gibbs was dead and it was his fault. Tony was supposed to have his six.

"I…I have to go. I can't stay here." He knocked the nasal cannula off his face and started dislodging the leads to the heart monitors.

Doctor Mallard rushed into the room followed by the on-call physician. The ME grabbed Tony's flailing hand and held it down to his side. "What are you doing, Tony?"

"He's dead. Why didn't you tell me, Ducky?" Why….." He fell back against the pillow and grimaced. "Oh….oh….." He squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back. He groped for Ducky's hand.

"A low dose of haloperidol," the attending doctor ordered Marjorie who had anticipated his need and was already preparing the sedative. "Tony, are you in pain? Where is it hurting?" The physician tried to get the patient to focus enough to answer his questions. Tony's back arched again and he groaned, unable to speak around the stabbing sensation in his chest.

"His blood oxygen level is down to 90 percent," Marjorie informed the physician, handing him an oxygen mask. The doctor pulled the cannula down and pressed the mask tightly on DiNozzo's face as the nurse turned the setting as high as she could. "Breathe slowly, Tony. You need to take slow, easy breaths."

Ducky leaned toward his young friend; after several minutes he saw Tony's frightened eyes glaze over and the sedative take effect. Pain released its hold on his features as his face went slack and the fingers wrapped around Ducky's hand loosened their grip. The old ME whispered that Gibbs was fine, there was nothing to worry about, that all was well; he didn't know if Tony actually heard him before the injured agent gradually slipped unconscious.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Jackson sat down in the chair by Leroy's bed. It had been a long time since his son had needed, had allowed, him to help. Leroy always wanted to do everything on his own. They had gone so long without talking, without any kind of relationship at all. When he thought Leroy had died before, his greatest regret was there had been so little time to get reacquainted. Now, he had a second chance to be a father, and he wasn't going to waste it.

He was so proud of Leroy. The boy had become a fine man. A bit too bull-headed sometimes, but he came by that trait honestly. His son still had a serious chewing out coming for running off and scaring him half to death. But that aside, he was determined to stay as long as Leroy needed him. The older man reached out and touched his son's silver hair. He smiled, remembering when it had been a rich, dark brown. There was a lock of that hair pressed into a memory book tucked away in his attic, carefully preserved along with a pair of booties and a baby rattle. So much time had passed; so much time had been lost. He refused to let any more slip away.

Then of course there was Tony. If there was anyone who needed a family, it was him. He would have never guessed that Leroy would take to the young man so much, since Leroy rarely ever took to anyone. But the connection was there, and it was obvious the two of them were as much family as any biological father and son ever were. It kind of made him the grandpa. He chuckled. Of course, he would never mention that to Leroy or Tony; the two of them could only deal with so much honesty.

"Dad?"

Jackson moved closer to the side of the bed. "How you doing, son?"

Gibbs considered the question for a long moment. "Okay."

"Good. Good. You rest now and get your strength back."

"Tony?" the Lead Agent asked, his blue eyes barely open.

"He's in a room upstairs. Ducky's with him," Jackson said.

"Ducky'll take care of him. Make sure he's ok," the blue-eyed man mumbled. Knowing Tony was being taken care of seemed to be enough for Gibbs. "Somebody's gotta watch his six." Gibbs closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

Jackson wasn't sure how Tony was really doing, but he hoped the next time Leroy woke he had good news to give him about his Senior Field Agent.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Vance and McGee stood awkwardly in Tony's room. He was still unconscious, the doctor informing them he was sedated and would probably not wake up for several hours. A bulky oxygen mask was strapped to his face; he looked weak and small underneath all the life-saving medical equipment.

"Why are his fingernails blue?" Vance questioned.

McGee looked over at the Director. "I forgot you weren't there before."

"Before?"

"When Tony had the plague. It's called cyanosis; it happens when the body isn't getting enough oxygen," McGee explained. "His nose and lips are probably turning blue, too."

"The doctor said the infection was causing respiratory failure." Vance pulled out a toothpick and plucked it between his teeth. Chewing on the end gave him something to do when he couldn't think of anything productive.

"It must have been frightening, having the plague. He never mentions it," the Director observed quietly.

"You know Tony. Everything that doesn't kill him is pretty much one big joke," McGee pointed out. He shifted nervously. "He did a good job as Lead Agent. I never told him that."

Vance clapped the junior agent on the back. "You'll still get a chance to."

"I hope so," McGee replied, not sure if this time a miracle was in store for DiNozzo or not.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony blinked his eyes open to see the sun peeking through the blinds onto his face. His eyelids were still heavy and it was difficult to keep them open. Marjorie bustled into the room between extended blinks. She removed the oxygen mask and replaced it with a nasal cannula. "How are we doing this morning?" she asked sweetly.

He licked his lips and tried to get his mouth to work. "Tired," he managed. She checked read-outs and monitors, wrote something on a chart, emptied the drainage bulb. She pulled on gloves and used antiseptic wipes to clean around the chest tube. He watched her with morbid fascination, as if it was someone else's body she was caring for.

He felt like a freaking science fair project.

"Fever's still there," she announced with a slight frown as she removed a thermometer from his ear. "I think the doctor's going to need to play around some more with the antibiotics he's using to get this knocked out." _The featured fight; antibiotics versus my super infection. _He didn't see a TKO coming, but rather a decision match all the way to the final round. He just hoped the antibiotics didn't throw in the towel too soon. They were kind of getting the shit kicked out of them right now.

Checking the bag by the bed, she made note of his urine output, then pulled the sheet back to palpitate his ankles and legs. Her touch was purely clinical, swift and efficient, but it disconcerted him nevertheless. He wanted to ask her to stop, but knew she wouldn't do anything that wasn't necessary to help him. The nurse continued until she reached his arms and checked his wrists and looked at his fingers. "You're a little swollen today. We'll have to give you something to take care of that." He noticed the bluish tint to his nails; he better than anyone knew that was not a good sign.

Tony turned his head to look at the water on the bedside table. "Do you want a drink?" she asked, retrieving a cup and straw. Holding it out, she reminded him to take small sips. As she sat the cup back on the table, he noticed the little yellow post-it stuck to the monitor, a skull-and crossbones stared back at him. _Abby._ He managed a wistful smile.

"I must have missed her visit," he said, once he was sure his voice would hold out.

Marjorie stopped her work and smiled. "You have some great friends. They've been here every time they've been allowed to come in. Sorry you slept through most of it."

"How's Gibbs?" he asked again. He vaguely remembered the incident from yesterday; blushed a little at the thought of it. He still had no idea about the boss' condition, although he was with it enough to realize that if Gibbs had died someone would surely have told him.

"Ah, Special Agent Gibbs. He's on the surgical floor and doing fine from what I've been able to find out. They were able to repair the bullet wound. He is definitely not dead, so you have nothing to worry about."

Tony slowly processed her information. Gibbs was fine. That was good, but Tony was still worried. He needed to know if everything was ok between him and the boss. Tony hadn't followed Gibbs' orders and had questioned his decisions about the team. The ex-marine had even been shot trying to save him. DiNozzo wanted to hear from Gibbs that they were good; that all was forgiven. He wanted the older man to know that even if he didn't totally understand the Lead Agent's decision to stay away and let everyone think he was dead, Tony was alright with it. It didn't seem that important anymore.

What mattered was that Gibbs was alive and back where he belonged.

"Marjorie?" She turned from where she was recording information from the bedside monitor. "Do you know why Gibbs," he stopped to cough and take a shallow, painful breath. "He usually comes to see me." He couldn't stop his voice from sounding strangled and weak.

There was a hint of fear and sadness in his eyes that tugged at the nurse's heart. Despite her stoic and upbeat attitude around her patient, she knew exactly how sick the young man really was.

"I don't think he's awake yet, Tony," she explained gently. "From what I was told by Dr. Mallard, he lost a lot of blood. I'm sure as soon as he can he'll come see you."

"Alright," he replied softly. He turned away from her, but she could see the fear remained; he wrestled with the question of whether he would be alive long enough to see his friend again.

"You'll see him again, Tony. I'll make sure of it; I promise. Do you believe me?"

He wondered if angels really existed, because he thought Marjorie might be one. Her voice seemed so tender and kind, for some reason he felt safe being honest with her. Or maybe he was just too tired to pretend. "I'm trying," he answered. It was impossible for him to hide his fear from her.

"Am I dying?" he asked quietly. Tony was afraid that if he was, no one would tell him and he wouldn't be prepared. _Like you can prepare for that anyway, DiNozzo._ "I feel…." He tried to think of a way to explain how he felt, but couldn't come up with a description. Beyond the ever-present pain in his chest, shoulder, and lungs, he felt drained and empty in a way he had never experienced. "I feel really bad." His voice hitched at the simple statement. He swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked a few times, not wanting this to end in another emotional scene like yesterday. He had lost it more in the last few days than he had in his entire adult life. Tony coughed feebly and looked at her for a truthful answer.

She dabbed his eyes with a tissue, then sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. "I have years of experience at this, Tony. Trust me; no matter how bad it gets I won't let you go anywhere just yet."

He held onto her hand and hoped her strength would be enough, because he certainly didn't have any left of his own. _I really wish you could be here, boss,_ Tony thought sadly, trying to rally whatever strength he had left. He feared there was going to be a hell of a fight to come, and he didn't know if he could face the battle without the one person he had come to rely on more than any other.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: Nothing is ever easy for our poor DiNozzo! Enjoy the angst, and let's just hope Gibbs can do something to help him pull through this; they still have a lot to settle. (And, once again, no medical knowledge here. I do research and google, and hopefully the web sites I've used have been accurate. Overlook any errors).**

**Lovin' your reviews! They keep me so motivated to tweak a little of this and that and keep the chapters coming. Let me know what you think about this one!**

"Tony," Ducky repeated. "This is Dr. Warren. He's going to be supervising your treatment from this point forward. He's a specialist in infections."

DiNozzo groggily opened his eyes and looked at the new doctor. There were so many people in and out it was hard to get interested in another new face.

"I'm not very pleased with the way you've been responding to the treatment we've been using. I'd like to try another approach," he explained. "I want to perform a lumbar puncture to identify exactly what kind of infection we're dealing with and use that to adjust the antibiotics."

Tony looked over at Ducky, somewhat confused. The continued lack of oxygen was making it more and more difficult for him to follow conversations; he relied on his old friend to cut through the crap and explain what was really going on. "It's a spinal tap," the ME clarified. "It will be uncomfortable, but shouldn't hurt. I agree that it is our best option at this point."

The older doctor could see the trust for him in the hazy green eyes as the younger man simply nodded.

"Good," Dr. Warren stated. "Let's get everything ready. I'd like to go ahead and start."

"Now?" Tony asked, finally showing an interest.

"Yes, Tony, now. The sooner we get this under way the quicker we can do something to help you feel better." The doctor's tone offered no opportunity for negotiation.

DiNozzo watched as Marjorie brought in some equipment on a rolling cart and positioned it by the bed. Tony was starting to feel nervous. He had been there over 24 hours and instead of doing better he felt ten times worse; their "treatments" weren't benefitting him as far as he could tell. The lengthy needle he noticed positioned on the tray didn't add to his confidence.

"Normally this procedure is done with the patient in the fetal position, but that isn't going to work because of your other injuries. We're going to have you sit up, similar to giving an epidural," the doctor explained.

"How long?" Tony asked. His facial expression betrayed the anxiety that was rapidly creeping through him. His already shallow breathing sped up some.

The physician placed a kind hand on his arm. "It could take up to 45 minutes, hopefully less. I know that sounds like a long time since you feel so lousy right now, but we'll get you through it." The idea of sitting up for an extended period was currently beyond his comprehension. The idea of doing that with a needle embedded in his spine…well, he didn't want to think about that at all. He sighed and tried to just go with the situation, since there was little he could do about it. If Ducky thought he needed to let them do this, he would trust his friend.

Marjorie and Dr. Mallard took up positions on either side of him. "We're going to lift you up now, Tony. Just let us do all the work."

"Not a problem," he replied a little cheekily, but the cough that punctuated the words took away some of their intended charm. It was the best he could do to sound unconcerned. The entire scenario was pretty overwhelming; he hated not being in control of his own body.

He tried hard not to groan as they moved him, but a small sound escaped nevertheless. Ducky sat on the edge of the bed and helped support his weight while Marjorie continued to hold him on the other side. None of his injuries were happy about the new position; the chest tube, the broken scapula, the bullet wound all made their protests known. Not even the high doses of medication they were pumping into the IV could completely prevent him from feeling some pain. A layer sweat quickly covered his face.

Someone untied the gown and let it fall to his waist. He shivered as the cold air touched his bare skin; the coolness set off another round of coughing. He felt vulnerable and exposed.

Dr. Warren placed a hand on his back, "I need you to lean forward some more, Agent DiNozzo. I want a really good look at your spine." Biting his lip, Tony did as the doctor requested, despite the unpleasant sensations it was causing. Marjorie and Ducky helped position him correctly for the procedure. Once the doctor was satisfied with his access to the patient's vertebrae, he collected the instruments to begin.

"Tony, I'm going to describe everything that's happening so you won't be caught off guard. Right now they're going to place a sterile cloth on your back and prep the site," Ducky informed him. Tony felt something icy rubbed along his spine; he jerked involuntarily. After a few minutes the elderly physician added, "Now, it's time to numb your back; a quick shot will do it." Tony flinched as a needle entered his skin; Ducky and Marjorie held him steady. "Let's give that some time to settle in."

DiNozzo closed his eyes and tried to drift off somewhere else. Any place would be better than here. Ducky's voice brought him back sooner than he planned. "Now you'll feel a bit of pressure as we give you a deeper anesthetic." There was pressure, along with more pain than he expected, but Tony tried to hold very still this time. He didn't want anything to go wrong when they were messing with his spine. His luck had been too bad recently to take any chances.

"Relax, Tony," Dr. Warren encouraged him. "This is easier if you relax." DiNozzo hadn't realized that he was tensing his muscles trying so hard not to move. He took a halting breath and attempted to do as the doctor asked, but under the circumstances relaxing was extremely difficult.

"I think we're ready," the specialist announced. "This part is easy for you, Tony. There will be some more pressure as I place the needle and then we wait to collect the fluid. Ok?"

"Ok," he answered. It wasn't like he could get them to stop now anyway. Even though Ducky and Marjorie were still holding him up, sweat poured off his skin from the exertion.

"You're doing great, Tony. Everything's in place and is looking fine," the doctor informed him.

Tony knew that technically he wasn't "doing" anything more than trying not to fall over, but he let that go for now.

Since Tony's arm was still in the sling, Ducky did his best to support his friend without causing him any more pain. The drainage bulb that protruded from the wound dangled uncomfortably, so the ME moved it on top of the sling to prevent any more pulling on the wound. "Am I causing you any undue discomfort, Anthony?"

_Undue discomfort. Only Ducky would use a phrase like that. _"I'm alright," he said through gritted teeth. "Everything hurts….about the same."

The elderly physician smiled knowingly before deciding a distraction was in order. "This puts me in mind of a young boy I met in India who developed meningitis. We weren't sure what was wrong with him…." The Scotsman continued his story, which Tony let wash over him like sounds of the ocean. The rise and fall of Ducky's familiar voice calmed some of his increasingly fragile nerves. The words of the story didn't matter, but hearing it helped more than he would have ever guessed.

Minutes ticked by slowly. Tony continued to try and not move, but started to shiver in the freezing room and couldn't do anything to control it. He looked over at Marjorie bleakly. "S…sorry," he apologized.

"Don't be silly, Tony. We'll get you some warm blankets when this is all over," the nurse assured him.

Without much warning, his stomach started to roll. He didn't know why, but a wave of nausea passed through him, and he could taste metallic bile building in the back of this throat. He let out another weak cough, trying to will the feeling away.

"Are you alright, Anthony?" Ducky asked, noticing his distress.

"I feel….. sick," he whispered. This was the last thing he needed to happen.

"Are you going to throw up?" Marjorie asked with concern.

"May….maybe," he replied. "Probably," he added suddenly. The somewhat mildly annoying medical issue had just graduated into a full-blown fucking nightmare. He was seriously not going to start puking while he had a needle jammed in his spine.

Dr. Warren pushed the call button. "Could we get some additional help in here?"

Another nurse entered; she was asked to grab an emesis basin. Despite his effort to prevent it, Tony could feel the vomit rising up. He swallowed, coughed, started heaving. Small amounts of liquid splashed into the pan, since he had eaten very little over the past few days.

"Try to hold him still," Dr. Warren warned.

Ducky and Marjorie braced Tony while his stomach continued to revolt. "It's ok, Anthony. It's ok," Ducky cooed, hoping to provide some level of comfort to his friend. He and the nurse held tight to DiNozzo's upper body, attempting to limit his movements.

"Shit." Another cycle of dry heaves tore through Tony. When he finally stopped, the younger man sagged down, whatever strength he had been using to keep himself upright, gone. The ME and Marjorie struggled to prevent him from slumping over.

"Please, Ducky, stop," Tony pleaded, his voice shaky and his breathing coming in small, quick gasps. "I don't wanna be sick again."

"Stay with us for a few more minutes, Anthony. It's almost over." Ducky shot a desperate look at Dr. Warren.

"We're almost finished, Tony," the specialist added.

Small tremors coursed through Tony's body and into Dr. Mallard's hands. The younger man's head rested on the doctor's arm and Tony's darkened eyes lifted to meet his own. "Ducky," the young agent swallowed and closed his eyes. "Ducky please, please make him stop. I can't….I can't do this anymore." There was a tone in Tony's voice the ME had never heard before; it awakened a long dormant paternal spirit in the Scot. He would have done anything in that moment to end Tony's suffering.

"Dr. Warren, I believe you need to conclude this procedure immediately," the elderly doctor directed firmly.

The specialist glanced up at the demand. "I think we have enough spinal fluid, Dr. Mallard. I'll finish so he can lie back down," the doctor agreed. He removed the needle and placed a small bandage on the puncture site.

Marjorie gently pulled the gown back around Tony's shoulders and carefully eased his arm through before tying it around his neck. Tony was beyond caring that someone else was tending to every basic function for him. Within minutes she and Ducky had DiNozzo lying down in the bed. "Thank you," he whispered to Ducky, the young man's eyes barely cracks.

"You're welcome, my boy." Dr. Mallard placed his hand over Tony's. "I am truly sorry that was so difficult for you." Behind his glasses, tears swam in the old man's eyes. He would never be as close to Tony as Gibbs, but the field agent definitely had a soft spot in the ME's heart; at that moment the spot was close to breaking.

Marjorie covered the agent's shivering body with a heated blanket; she wiped his face and mouth clean.

"Keep him lying flat for at least the next four hours. It should prevent a nasty headache from developing along with everything else," Dr. Warren advised sympathetically.

Tony was already asleep, unable to fight the energy sapping weariness.

"What do you think is causing the nausea?" Dr. Mallard asked the specialist.

"Based on his urine output and the swelling in his limbs, I believe he's moving into the early stages of renal failure. Let's hope the lab results give us something new to try soon, or we're heading into some very dangerous territory."

"Oh, dear," Ducky replied, fear for Tony's survival gripping him for the very first time.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

"Why can't we see him?" Abby demanded, crossing her arms and giving the nurse a very unpleasant Gibbs-like stare. "These are the assigned visiting hours and we should be able to visit him!"

The nurse took in the young Goth's multiple black pigtails, dog collar, and black t-shirt, but was not intimidated. "The doctor is conducting a procedure right now and we can't interrupt. I'll do my best to see that you get to make up the time during the next scheduled visitation."

"What type of procedure?" Ziva asked politely. She decided to try the route of being nice to the nursing staff, since they seemed to control whether or not any of them were able to see Tony for even a few minutes. If that did not work, there were always some Mossad torture techniques she could use.

The nurse shook her head. "I can't discuss any medical information with non-family members except to tell you that currently Agent DiNozzo's condition is listed as critical, but stable. I'm sorry that I can't tell you more."

The words _critical, but stable _sent Abby over the edge; she was actually more afraid for Tony than truly angry at the nurse. The Goth wrung her hands and paced in a circle. "Oh, my gosh, Ziva, what do you think is going on? Do you think something bad happened and they just won't tell us? Ducky would tell us wouldn't he? What if Tony dies and we don't even get to say goodbye? I've been thinking positive thoughts, but maybe that isn't enough, maybe he's gotten worse and he won't even get to see Gibbs again. Maybe…."

The nurse stepped out from behind the desk and put her hand on Abby's arm. "Sweetheart, he isn't dying, ok? I promise you he isn't dying."

Abby paused then threw her arms around the shocked woman. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry for being so bitchy, but Gibbs just came back from the dead, and now Tony might be dying. He's one of my best friends; the thought of losing him is making me crazy."

The nurse patted Abby on the back. "I understand," she said kindly. _Someone came back from the dead?_ The nurse wondered. _These people seemed nice, but….._

"We should go see if we can visit Gibbs now," Ziva suggested, disentangling Abby from the nurse.

"That's a good idea," Abby agreed, sniffling. "It's time for the boss-man to wake up."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The team was gathered in Gibbs' room for the time being. When one of the medical staff found them all crowded inside, they were sure to be thrown out, but it helped for them to be together.

"Why is he still asleep?" McGee asked Jackson. "Is he sedated?" Gibbs was hooked to an IV and some monitors, but compared to Tony he looked to be the picture of health.

"No, the doctor said he was just completely exhausted. That, combined with the blood loss, surgery, and pain medication, and he's just taking a really long nap. He actually woke up a couple of times, but isn't very with it yet. He asked a few questions and slipped back out. I don't think he really understood what I was saying," Jackson explained.

They all looked up as Ducky entered the room.

Abby was on him at once. "What is going on Ducky? They wouldn't let us in to see Tony and wouldn't tell us anything about what was happening. I'm really worried." She was twisting her hands and bouncing slightly from nervous energy.

The ME glanced down at his feet and then back at the group. They were all looking at him with so much hope; it was difficult to tell them the truth. But as a doctor, and a friend, he was obligated to be completely and totally forthright. "The good news is that a new doctor is involved and he has an idea for an antibiotic protocol that could be more effective than what has been used to this point."

"And the bad news?" Ziva asked.

The ME sighed. "Tony's kidneys are shutting down. If he doesn't turn a corner soon, it will be a domino effect; more organs will follow, ultimately leading to death," Dr. Mallard told them honestly. "We don't have much time left to get this infection stopped or it's going to be too late for Anthony to fight back."

Abby peered down at Gibbs' sleeping form. The agent stirred, but didn't open his eyes. "Now would be a really good time to wake up, boss. Tony really, really needs you."

A physician and nurse entered the room, stopping short at the sight of all the people gathered inside. "Excuse me, but I need to examine Agent Gibbs, and I also believe we have a violation of visitation policy going on here. I'm going to have to ask all of you to wait outside," the doctor said coldly.

Jackson gently herded the anxious group toward the door. "Let's allow the doctor to do his work," he prodded. "You can all see Leroy again later."

"Jack, why don't you join me for some coffee?" Dr. Mallard asked. "It might do us both good."

"Alright," Jack replied, glancing back at his sleeping son. "I could use a little something." The elderly man followed the others out the door.

As the doctor checked the bullet wound, Gibbs blue eyes struggled their way open. He had heard bits of the conversation about Tony; he just couldn't get his body to cooperate quickly enough to do anything about it. Now, only one thought remained. _Tony might be dying._ He lifted himself from the bed, much to the doctor's surprise.

"What are you doing, Agent Gibbs? Please lie back down, you just had major surgery and it's important that you remain still," the physician demanded.

"No, I have to see Tony. I have to talk to him. Where is he?" Gibbs protested, knocking the doctor's hands away.

"You are not going anywhere," the doctor placed his hands on Gibbs' chest and pushed him back down. Anger flashed through the blue gaze.

"Do not do that again," Gibbs snarled.

The doctor looked over at the nurse and whispered, "Sedative." Gibbs had already tossed his legs over the side of the bed. Quickly, the nurse injected something into the IV port; Gibbs turned as the solution hit his veins, his vision blurring and his body turning numb. After a few seconds, instead of standing he started to fall backwards. The doctor grabbed him and eased the agent back onto the bed.

Gibbs could no longer hang on to his scattering thoughts. _Don't die on me DiNozzo. I'm not through with you yet, _spun through his brain before he was drug down once more into the gathering darkness.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

McGee stood next to Tony's bed, watching his friend struggle to breathe while he slept. Several minutes of labored breaths would be followed by several seconds of silence, when all breathing stopped; a strangled gasp would follow, and the process repeated itself. He had skipped a few of the visitations to avoid this very thing, never comfortable with DiNozzo when he was less than his normal aggravating, annoying, over-confident self. But Ducky's words had scared him, and he knew if something bad happened to Tony, he would never forgive himself for staying away. Vance was supposed to come in with him, but the Director had been called out at the last minute to return to MTAC. So he found himself standing by Tony's bed, alone.

A nurse entered, adding an injection into the IV line. "It's a caffeine solution," she said, explaining her actions. "It will help prevent any headaches from the spinal tap."

"You really can give caffeine intravenously? We've joked with my boss about that for years. Tony would think it was too funny."

"Does he have a good sense of humor?" the nurse asked. Marjorie had taken quite a liking to the young man, and was curious about his personality when he was in good health.

"Tony? He's one giant goof-ball of humor. He's absolutely hilarious. Almost anything's funny to him. And if it's not, he'll make it funny. I've never met anyone with a sense of humor like Tony."

Nothing about this experience was funny, though. He doubted if even Tony could laugh at his current predicament. The nurse checked DiNozzo's temperature, picked up the nearly empty bag of urine by the bed and made some notes on the chart. She emptied the drainage bulb that was still collecting yellowish-pink fluid.

"Any change?" McGee asked, even though he knew the answer.

The nurse's face was grim. "No, I'm sorry." She lifted the sheet and massaged Tony's legs again. McGee was shocked at the site of his friend's swollen ankles.

"I bet he's fun to work with. Nothing's worse than spending your whole day around a bunch of people who take everything too seriously," the nurse observed, completing her tasks and heading back to the door.

McGee nodded; he was the one who sometimes took everything too seriously. "Yeah, he's fun to work with." He paused. "He's also brave, kind, smart...but, of course, I never let him know any of that. He'd be impossible to deal with."

She smiled kindly. "Call if you need anything."

McGee remembered his first few years at NCIS. He had admired Tony, to the point that even being in the same room with him made the younger agent anxious. Tony was the exact type of guy who never liked McGee; the jock, the ladies man, the smooth talker. In the end, though, Tony _had_ liked McGee. Even with all the practical jokes and teasing, Tim knew it; he even took advantage of it now. He actually kind of enjoyed it when Tony messed up, didn't get the answer first, or inadvertently looked like an ass. It was like he was getting revenge on all those other guys who had picked on him over the years; the sad thing about it, he realized, was he sometimes used Tony to make himself feel better.

He had just decided to go when DiNozzo's eyes fluttered and opened, catching sight of him. The senior field agent swallowed painfully, opening his mouth to speak, but only managing to make a raspy noise. "Do you want some water?" McGee asked.

Tony closed his eyes and nodded.

McGee poured a cup of water and found a straw. He brought it over to Tony, realizing at the last moment that his friend was never going to take the cup for himself. "Um, here," he said, lifting Tony's head slightly and holding the cup so he could drink. When the agent started coughing, McGee took the cup away and laid Tony's head back down on the bed. They had him positioned completely flat; he didn't even have a pillow. McGee considered how uncomfortable his friend must be.

"Thanks," DiNozzo whispered, not even protesting Tim's help. The fact Tony didn't complain, didn't make an inappropriate comment, didn't even try to harass him told the younger man all he needed to know about Tony's condition.

McGee felt his heart pounding in his chest. Tony should never be this weak; this helpless. Tim knew he should have never come in here and seen Tony like this. Even if Tony got well, he would never shake these images out of his mind.

"I'm glad you're alone. I need you to do something for me," DiNozzo said softly, wheezing slightly.

"Sure, Tony, anything." What else could he say?

"There's a box in my apartment; top of the hall closet." He stopped to close his eyes again and catch his breath. He met McGee's gaze, more serious than the younger agent had ever seen him. "It has papers in it, some stocks, bonds….my will. My mom….. left me a few things. I want you… to take care of them for me."

The weight of what Tony was asking impressed itself upon him. "Tony, no, I can't do that. Don't ask me to. You're going to be fine; you'll be back shooting spitballs at me in no time."

"Spitballs," Tony repeated longingly, a faraway look in his eye. What he'd give for one more day to sit in the bullpen and wreak havoc during their downtime. Sadly, he returned to his present situation. "I need you to do this, McGee," he winced, pain clouding his features. "I…. trust you. Please," he added.

Tim felt sick, but he couldn't say no, not when Tony was like this. He couldn't do anything to help DiNozzo get better, but he could give him one less thing to worry about. "Okay, Tony. I'll take care of it. I promise."

"Thanks, Probie." He chuckled, and to McGee's chagrin found the humor in a humorless moment. "You know…. I always wanted my… very own Probie. I'm glad….. I got….. to keep you."

"I'm not a puppy, Tony."

DiNozzo gave him a small smile, barely reminiscent of his dazzling grins of the past. "No, not anymore. You're all….. grown up now." He coughed, choked a little. "You sure were….hell to housetrain." He tried to laugh, but strangled instead. McGee wanted to pat him, help him catch his breath but couldn't find a safe place to touch. With a gravelly voice, Tony finally said, "I'm really tired, Tim."

Tim wasn't sure if he meant, "I'm tired right now and want to sleep" or "I'm tired of all this and want to give up," but he was too afraid to ask for clarification.

"Get some rest. I'll see you later," McGee told him instead. It was the coward's way out. As soon as Tony's eyes closed, the junior agent stumbled from the room and down the hall. His eyes burned and itched. He turned a corner and slammed his back against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He dropped his head onto his knees.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Timmy?" It was Abby. She kneeled down beside him.

"I saw you run out of Tony's room. Are you ok?"

He looked up at her, tears streaking his face. "I can't do this, Abby. First we think Gibbs is dead, then he's alive, and now Tony…..I think he might die, Abby."

"Oh, Tim," she said, sitting beside him and holding his head against her chest while he cried. They held each other for a very long time.

_NCISNCISNCIS  
_

Tony hated to put McGee in that position. He knew the younger man wasn't comfortable with these situations. Who would be? Normally he would've teased his friend, given him hell about it. But considering he was the one potentially dying, it didn't seem appropriate. At the end of the visit Tony could tell the junior agent was about to break down, and he didn't want to see that, he knew it was more than either of them could handle. So he pretended to go to sleep and let Probie off the hook.

He did trust Tim, and he knew his friend would take care of things for him, no matter how hard it was to do. He admired that about Tim, from the first time the young man forced himself to look at a dead body when he was ready to pass out. McGee would do what had to be done. Tony had long ago put his affairs in order, knowing that at any time he could be killed in the line of duty. But what he asked of Tim would still be difficult, since out of the four agents McGee took matters more to heart than any of the others. Tim would never be as hardened as the rest of them; he would always maintain his squishy center. It was what made him McGee.

Tony's eyes flicked over to the empty chair at the side of the bed, like they did several times an hour. It was Gibbs' chair, and it had been empty the entire time he'd been here. _He would come if he could._ The one regret he had was that he wouldn't get the chance to settle things with Gibbs. To put everything right with his boss.

He would die with Gibbs possibly angry at him, disappointed in him. The silver-haired man had been ready to tell him something while they were trapped in the cellar, but if Gibbs didn't hurry he would never know what. Tony needed to know what Gibbs was going to say, if not just to satisfy his own curiosity; but to convince himself that he hadn't fabricated their entire friendship in his own mind.

Funny, how here at the end, he didn't care if he made amends with his own father. That didn't matter at all. The boss was the only one he cared about letting down, pushing away. Twisted. He knew it.

Whether Gibbs came or not, it was time to accept the inevitable. Every hour it was harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to move. It was all down to hours now. He had imagined his death before, but he always thought he would go out more like Clint Eastwood in _Gran Tarino_ than Hilary Swank in _Million Dollar Baby_.

The door opened and Ducky entered with Doctor Warren. He could tell by their dour expressions they both knew what he had already figured out.

"Hanging in there?" the specialist asked. He had been warned by Dr. Mallard this would not be an easy conversation.

Tony waited, took a few breaths to make sure he had some air to answer. "For now."

"Anthony," Ducky said cautiously. "I need you to consider something for me. I know you're having a difficult go of it right now, and Doctor Warren and I both think it would help if you let us assist your breathing. It would only be long enough to give the new antibiotics time to work, maybe a day or two."

"No."

"Tony, we can sedate you so you won't even be aware…."

"No," he repeated. "Won't die….like that."

Dr. Warren decided to try and help win the argument. "Dr. Mallard...Ducky... has told me you've been on a vent before, so you know this isn't life support. It's merely an opportunity for your body to not have to work so hard and allow itself to heal. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Anger surged through Tony, but he could do nothing about it. Bitterness poured out through his eyes. "I'm not…..afraid."

"Then you have no legitimate reason to prevent us from doing this," Dr. Warren said bluntly. "Unless you want to let yourself die."

Tony tried to hold himself together. Maybe he _was_ afraid, but he wasn't going to tell them that. And he didn't want to die; he just had a feeling that it might be out of his hands now. He didn't want his last few hours spent attached to some damn machine.

He shook his head again. "No," he whispered.

"Anthony, I will not let you give up so easily!" Ducky was furious that Tony would stop fighting. "What would Jethro think?"

"Not here….is he?" Tony responded. "No….vent. I have…the right." If he was going to die, it wouldn't be while he was semi-conscious with a tube in his throat. Everything else they had done to him was bad enough; he could still make this one, final choice. _Damn, the nausea was coming back. _He swallowed, blinked, held his mouth shut tight.

"Sick again?" Dr. Warren asked, noticing the signs. The two men quickly took action, Ducky pushing Tony up and the other doctor grabbing a basin just in time to catch the meager contents of Tony's stomach. They held DiNozzo's back during the retching, laying the exhausted man back when it was over.

Ducky provided some water so Tony could wash the taste away. Leaning close, the old ME said, "Please reconsider, Anthony. This might be your only chance." Another shake of the head was the only answer Tony could give.

"Fine," Dr. Warren said, sharing Dr. Mallard's anger that the young man wouldn't let them do everything possible to save him. "No vent, but you are going to have dialysis. It should stop some of this nausea. Don't even consider saying no." He left to set up the treatment.

Ducky shook his head at Tony's stubbornness. "I'm not finished with this conversation," he said before following the doctor into the hall.

"What are his chances?" the ME asked when he found Dr. Warren at the nurse's station.

"If we can keep him alive for the next couple of days, I believe the new antibiotics will work. But if he refuses to use the respirator…..I honestly don't know. They aren't good."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Gibbs felt like Rip Van Winkle, like maybe he had been asleep for a hundred years. But, for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel mind-numbing exhaustion, which was a welcome change. He looked around the room and found his father standing next to the window, gazing out into the waning sunshine. The older man turned around and smiled when he saw his son's blue eyes staring back at him.

"You finally decide to wake up?" he asked.

"First time you ever let me sleep late. I'm surprised you didn't try to get me up to go clean the parking lot or something," he teased.

Jackson laughed. "Early to bed and early to rise…..you know the rest."

Gibbs took note of the IV, shifted to get more comfortable. "So what have I missed?"

"Davenport is dead. It's been all over the news. Currently, they're keeping your names out of it, just saying "un-named federal agents." Leon is trying to keep it that way," he summarized.

"What happened to the SecNav?" Gibbs asked; his memory of the previous events was fuzzy.

Jackson smiled proudly. "Tony and Ziva shot him before he had a chance to finish you off."

"Don't ever underestimate those two. How is Tony? You said they brought him here; he was in pretty bad shape. They get him straightened out?" He noticed how Jackson looked away, wouldn't meet his gaze. Something from earlier nagged at his consciousness, but he couldn't quite get there. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"He's having a rough time, son. He has sepsis; his organs are shutting down. The doctors are giving him a ton of antibiotics, but…" he leaned over and held Gibb's arm. "They don't know if he'll make it through the night. Ducky says they've done about all they can."

Gibbs closed his eyes and let the news sink in. He remembered now. The doctor, trying to go see Tony, the sedative, everything. DiNozzo was somewhere in this hospital dying while he took a two-day nap.

"No. Tony doesn't give up. Ever. He isn't dying." Gibbs wouldn't believe it.

"Leroy, none of us want to accept this, but it's beyond our control. It's beyond Tony's control. What are you doing?" he asked.

The Lead Agent was slowly swinging his legs over the bed again. The pain in his abdomen was bad, but nothing he couldn't tolerate. "You can get me a wheelchair and push me to his room, or I can walk. Take your pick. But I'm going."

Jackson knew the look of resolve in his boy's steel blue eyes well. "I'll be right back with the wheelchair." There was no sense in fighting him. Jackson figured if it came down to it, his ex-marine son would crawl if he had to.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Ziva walked into Tony's room to find a nurse checking a bulky machine that was attached to the catheter in DiNozzo's neck.

"Oh, I am sorry. I will come back later," she said, starting to shut the door.

"No, come in," the nurse told her. "I'm finishing up here. You still have time to visit."

Ziva entered the room. "I do not want to disturb anything."

The nurse smiled as she pulled a sheet back over Tony. "I think he needs as many visitors as he can get right now. He could use some encouragement."

The Israeli nodded. The fact they were no longer following their visitation rules was not a good sign.

She moved close and touched his hair. It needed to be washed; she would do that for him later, since he still could only use one arm. She might even style it; that could be fun. She smiled at the idea of giving him a faux-hawk. The scary part was, Tony might like it. The idea made her giggle.

"What's so…..funny?" he asked.

"I was thinking about how I would like to fix your hair. I will spike it, with a lot of hair gel."

He tried to laugh, but it was covered up by coughing.

"Ducky said you will not let the doctor help your breathing. Tony, you cannot make this choice. You have to let them do everything they can." He could see the wetness in her eyes. He had seen Ziva cry before, but never for him.

Tony shook his head no, hoping she would understand. It was the last bit of control he had. There might be something else he wanted to say to them, and the thought of not being able to do that was worse than anything else he could imagine.

"Don't cry," he whispered, wishing he could reach up and wipe away the tear that was trailing down her cheek.

It was impossible to explain to her how incredibly tired he felt. How incredibly alone, even with her there beside him. He just couldn't do it this time. It was too hard.

"You know, you really are irreplaceable. Where can I find someone else who will help me torture McGee?" She felt a few more tears leak out, but continued on. "And I am not ready to train a Probie. Can you even imagine McGee as Gibb's senior field agent? We need you, Tony. I need you."

He shook his head again, and reached for her hand. Her slender fingers squeezed his. He coughed weakly and his vision faded for a while. Ziva felt the grip on her hand loosen and watched him slip away.

"Tony, come back, it is not time for you to go."

He blinked at her, but nothing she said made sense. Her words were elongated, garbled, distorted. The room swam in and out of focus. She wouldn't stop moving.

"Ziva," he tried to say, but there was no oxygen in his lungs and he was choking. An alarm sounded. The nurse ran back in.

"You need to leave now," she ordered tersely.

Ziva was pushed aside as Marjorie started working over Tony. His eyes roamed in their sockets, and she knew he could no longer see her.

Ducky, McGee and Abby stood outside the door.

Tears were streaming down her face; she wiped at them with the back of her hand; wished they would stop. She was a Mossad assassin, death was a part of her life. Tony had lived a good life, a brave life. But the tears would not end. "He is dying," she said brokenly. "Tony is dying. Can they do anything else?" she asked Ducky. "Can they stop this from happening? Please, Ducky, help him."

The old doctor hugged her. "There's nothing more I can do Ziva. I am so sorry."

"He is not going to die." The low, rough voice came from behind them.

"Gibbs!" Abby squealed. "You're awake!" Jackson wheeled the silver-haired man to the door outside Tony's room.

"Just in time, by the looks of it," he said, as Jackson pushed the door open and they disappeared inside.

The team watched the door close, each of them wondering if this time, just ordering Tony to live would be enough to save him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.**

**Author's Note: I can't believe this is it! I hope you find the ending satisfactory. I posted a little earlier than I planned since several had asked for it (Vanishing2000, I couldn't leave you hanging for three weeks with no internet-lol)!**

**I can't thank everyone who has reviewed enough. I've enjoyed reading each and every one of your comments! (I'm still trying to reply to everyone from yesterday. It's been a crazy day). It makes me happy to know there are people out there who enjoy my little hobby.**

**So I look forward to seeing your thoughts on this last chapter. And you lurkers—you know who you are—come out, come out wherever you are! Let's hear from you, too!**

**Many humble thanks-until next time :)**

**TH**

It took Gibbs a few minutes to get his bearings. The hospital room was quiet and cold, with only the soft beeping of monitors and whirring of machines to break the silence. A nurse was in the room, silently taking Tony's pulse; she looked up at their entrance.

Her eyes narrowed as she evaluated the unexpected arrivals; Gibbs prepared for a fight since he wasn't leaving.

"Are you Agent Gibbs?" she asked, surprising him.

"Yes, I am."

"I was beginning to doubt you were ever going to show up. Get over here now. You might be the only person who can get through to him at this point. He's not listening to anybody else." She appeared to be both worried and exasperated. Gibbs wasn't surprised. It was a common reaction from those who cared about DiNozzo. "My name's Marjorie," she said.

Jackson pushed Gibbs close to Tony's bed. "What is all this?" the Lead Agent asked, taken aback at all the equipment and machines. He had seen his agent incapacitated before, but this….the young man definitely looked like someone who was being provided intensive care.

"We have Agent DiNozzo on dialysis due to his deteriorating kidney function," she explained. "The rest, well, we're doing our best to keep him around a while longer. I guess we've used everything we can think of."

"Can I talk to him?" Gibbs asked.

"We can try to wake him up. But I want to warn you, his oxygen levels are fairly low, and he's become confused as a result. He might not understand you, and he might not make much sense himself. Just be prepared," she explained. "And don't let him take off the mask. We had to change from the nasal cannula and he wasn't happy about it, but he needs as much oxygen as he can get into his system right now."

Gently she leaned over and shook Tony's arm. "Tony. Tony wake up. There's someone here to see you. You've been waiting for him."

Finally, after several failed attempts, DiNozzo lifted his eyelids and gazed around. "Hey there," Marjorie said kindly, catching his attention. "Agent Gibbs is here to see you, Tony. I didn't think you'd want to sleep through his visit."

_Gibbs is here?_ Everything filtered to him as if through a layer of gauze, and he had to fight to keep the words from floating away. _Gibbs. _With great effort he turned his head to find the chair by his bed still empty. Maybe he was dreaming; his head felt so foggy it was possible.

"Over here, DiNozzo." His eyes tracked to where the sound came from and he saw a person in another chair. Silver hair, blue eyes, _a wheelchair?_ He lifted his hand to the mask on his face, trying to remove it, but unable to fully control his pudgy, blue-tinged, swollen fingers._ Who's hand is this? _he wondered suddenly._ It doesn't even look like mine._

Someone grasped his hand and took it away from the mask. "Leave that alone, Tony. It won't hurt you to be quiet for a while." The person held his hand and didn't let go. It took a few seconds, but Tony eventually recognized Jack. He tried to mumble the other man's name, but the sound was caught inside the plastic covering his mouth. The elderly man squeezed Tony's fingers and rubbed his arm.

"You got yourself into quite a mess this time, didn't you DiNozzo?" Gibbs said lightly. "I get shot and nearly bleed to death and you still find a way to show me up."

The door opened and a doctor entered the room. "Did you page me, Marjorie? Is everything ok?"

"We had a scary incident a little while ago when Tony couldn't breathe, but he's settled down now. I think he's stable with the mask on," she explained.

The doctor appraised the other men in the room.

"I'm Agent Gibbs and this is my father, Jackson. I'm Tony's boss and I also hold his medical power-of-attorney." Gibbs thought it best to stake his territory as quickly as possible.

Jackson raised an eyebrow at the statement. He didn't know about that small tidbit. The layers of this complicated relationship continued to unfold.

"I see. I'm Dr. Warren. We definitely need to talk."

Jackson placed Tony's hand back under the sheet and pushed his son to the far side of the room. Gibbs shifted uncomfortably, not very happy about having to use the wheelchair but knowing it was currently his only option. His abdomen throbbed dully, but he ignored his own pain to focus on DiNozzo. "Is this as bad as it looks?" the blue-eyed man asked, getting to the point.

"I'm afraid it is. Tony is very close to complete respiratory failure; his blood oxygenation is about as low as it can get. I've suggested use of a respirator for a short time, just until Tony fights off this infection, but he's refusing the treatment even though he could be sedated during the process. I don't know what else to do for him," the doctor said, clearly frustrated with the lack of cooperation from the patient.

The silver-haired man looked over at his stubborn senior field agent and shook his head. "He's been on a vent before and hates it," Gibbs informed the physician.

"No one likes it, Agent Gibbs. But with his history of lung related issues, it's always going to be a consideration if he is seriously ill." The doctor paused and rubbed his chin. "With the mental condition he's currently in, we could use your medical power-of-attorney and put him on the respirator anyway," Dr. Warren suggested. He folded his arms and waited to hear the other man's response.

Gibbs considered the possibility. When Tony had given him the authority to make medical decisions for him, it had seemed like a formality. The paperwork had to be completed, and reaching Tony's father during an emergency when every second counted was a long-shot at best. So Gibbs got the honor. "I wouldn't want my Dad to be the one to make those choices anyway," Tony had said, laughing nervously. "He might sell my organs for a down payment on a condo." DiNozzo had turned it into a joke, but Gibbs heard the truth and regret behind the statement. He took the role Tony had given him seriously, just like he took this decision seriously.

Gibbs was humbled by the fact the younger man trusted him enough to know what he wanted, even when the stakes were life and death. Gibbs looked back over at DiNozzo, who had closed his eyes again and was lying unmoving in the sea of life-saving equipment. _I've got your six, Tony. I always will. _The marine knew what he would want, and that Tony's choice would be the same.

His blue eyes met the doctor's. "I can't do that to him. If he said no, I won't override his wishes. But let me talk to him, maybe I can get him to change his mind."

The doctor sighed. "All right, Agent Gibbs. But I'm telling you to talk fast. The quicker we can get this done, the better I'm going to feel about his chances."

"Understood," Gibbs agreed.

After the doctor left, Gibbs once more took position by Tony's bed. This time he reached out and moved Tony's sweaty hair off his face, not really caring if his agent was still mad at him or not. He thought about his rules, the rules that Tony had so diligently memorized and tried, but often failed, to follow. Gibbs wasn't doing such a good job of following those rules himself.

Right now, the rule that stuck out in his mind was number eight, _never take anything for granted. _There were a great many things Tony wanted to know about him, about his life, but Gibbs had been unwilling, or unable, to share very much. He had taken the opportunity to talk with Tony for granted, and now the opportunity might be gone.

"Dad, do you know where my wallet is?" the younger Gibbs asked.

"Your wallet? I guess it's with your other things back in your room. Why?"

"Would you get it for me? I need something in it," he said. He frowned as Tony shifted slightly and groaned. The heart monitor sped up while his breathing picked up pace; his head tossed restlessly. Gibbs reached out and placed his rough hand on Tony's arm; DiNozzo continued to move and stir. He whimpered unconsciously.

Marjorie looked up from her chart and moved closer to the bed.

The Lead Agent paid no attention to the nurse; he leaned toward his friend. "Sshhh, Tony. Ssshhh. You're ok." The often gruff voice was as soft as a gentle breeze. He continued to quietly shush the younger man; after a few seconds the heart monitor slowed and Tony settled into a more peaceful sleep.

The nurse glanced over at Jackson and smiled. Tears welled in the older man's crinkled eyes. He cleared his throat to regain his composure.

"Are you sure your wallet can't wait, Leroy? I mean, considering the situation…." Jackson was confused by his son's request.

Once Gibbs was sure Tony no longer struggled against some unknown discomfort, he straightened up and met his father's stare. "Trust me, Dad. I need it to help Tony." When the older man still hesitated, he tried to avoid sounding irritated. "Could you hurry?"

Jackson was still puzzled, but gave in to the urgency of his son's strange demand and left. Returning a few minutes later, he handed over the worn leather wallet. "I don't know what you could be planning to do with this, but I hope it works." The elderly man walked to DiNozzo's bedside. "Hold on, Tony," he said tenderly, letting his hand linger on the field agent's brow. Jackson turned back to his son. "Holler if you need anything." Marjorie left the room behind him.

Alone, Gibbs licked his lips; this wouldn't be easy, for him or for Tony.

"DiNozzo," he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "DiNozzo, I need to talk to you. Don't make me yell."

Tony's eyes opened a fraction, seeking the source of the voice. Gibbs reached out his hand and turned his young friend's head toward him. DiNozzo's eyes grew wide as if seeing him for the first time.

"You're giving everybody here quite a scare, Tony. They have some crazy notion you plan on dying tonight. I told them you wouldn't do that; you didn't ask for permission."

Gibbs saw a memory flicker across Tony's eyes. _Better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission. _"And no, I won't forgive you if you die on me."

Tony closed his eyes. Gibbs was implying he could just choose not to die. It wasn't that simple this time.

"I would've been here to see you sooner, but getting shot myself kind of kept me out of commission for a few days. I didn't know you needed me," he said.

Tony's green eyes flashed again. Gibbs wished he knew what the younger man was thinking; he forged ahead. _I've never been one to back down from a challenge and I won't start now. _"Do you remember being in Davenport's cellar with me?"

There was a pause, but slowly Tony nodded.

"Good," the Lead Agent said. "You told me some things, and I never got my turn to let you know what I thought. I was getting ready to say you were right, Tony. You were right about me not trusting you, or the team, or anybody else with my personal problems. I guess I always believed they were my responsibility and I should keep you guys out of it; that I was doing what was best for you." He sighed heavily. "That hasn't worked out so great, huh?"

DiNozzo blinked in response. Gibbs didn't seem mad at him for any of the things he'd said or done, for which he was glad. He really wasn't angry at Gibbs anymore, either, but he did wish the older man would start letting him in when things got personal.

"Not contacting you was a mistake. I would expect you to come to me for help and I should have shown you the same respect. I'm sorry," Gibbs continued.

Tony reached for the mask again; Gibbs took his hand away and placed it back on the bed. "I'm talking this time, DiNozzo. I know what you're going to say anyway; hell it's not like I didn't pound those rules into your head with a sledgehammer. Apologizing might be a sign of weakness professionally, but not when you're talking to a friend."

Tony eyes fluttered. Gibbs never apologized. _Never. _Especially not to him. _I really must be dying._

"There's something else I said that needs cleared up." The hard blue eyes pierced into him. The older man wasn't done yet.

"I told you I wasn't your father." Gibbs broke his gaze for a minute, collected his thoughts. His voice dropped a few decibels. "Tony, I don't know why your old man treated you the way he did. If I had been fortunate enough to be your father…." He stopped and laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. "We would have gone fishing, and built tree houses, and played catch in the backyard. I would have told you about the birds and the bees." Gibbs could see condensation on Tony's mask, and wondered if the younger man had tried to laugh at that. "I would have never missed a basketball game, or a school play, or a parent-teacher conference. And I would never, ever have sent you away to boarding school. I would've treasured every minute you were there." He stopped and made sure Tony was looking at him. "Kind of like I've done since I've been lucky enough to have you work with me."

_Not fair, Gibbs. This is so not fair. But when had Gibbs ever fought fair? _Tony could feel his eyes grow hot, but even now, he would not allow himself to cry.

"I'm not your father Tony, because if I _had_ been, not a day would've gone by that you didn't know I loved you."

_Well, shit. After all this time, Tony hadn't known that Gibbs could even say the word love. _

And Tony realized the truth of it all. That from the moment he met the Lead Agent, the man had exuded a fatherly spirit; he epitomized the desire to teach, instruct, and train. Every head-slap reminded him of it. It was all he had ever wanted from another person, and Gibbs had given that to him for the last ten years. The older man had shown him what it was like to have a real father, a father who would sacrifice anything for him. It was a gift more priceless than anything else he could ever receive.

The blue-eyed man gave DiNozzo his famous half-smile. _Got you with that, didn't I? _he thought. Tony's eyes were wide green pools staring back at him.

"I have something to show you." Gibbs picked up his battered old wallet. Tony had seen it many times when the Lead Agent paid for coffee or bought them a pizza.

The older man's thumb brushed across the distressed leather as he hesitated. "If you tell anybody about this, I'll probably kill you myself."

_Not the best choice of words to say to a dying man, _Tony thought, _but Gibbs was never known for his tact._

The ex-marine pulled out a small stack of pictures. They had been jammed into a pocket in the back, behind some old credit cards.

The first photograph he took out was of Shannon and Kelly. It had faded with time, but the weathered edges didn't diminish their beauty and happy smiles. "My girls," he said wistfully. "I take them with me everywhere."

Tony watched with fascination. He had completely forgotten about not being able to breathe. He had no idea what the boss was doing.

The next picture surprised him. It was one of the whole team; they were standing close together, laughing. "Somebody took this at that teamwork picnic Vance made us go to. Do you remember that day? I think you challenged everybody at NCIS to one-on-one. But I still threw a football farther than you." His blue eyes twinkled.

Tony remembered; it had been an awesome day. He even got McGeek to play basketball with him. Abby had displayed some impressive moves. Poor Ziva had been clueless.

The next picture Gibbs showed him caused a stab of pain. It was Kate. "I still can't believe she's gone," the silver-haired man said sadly. "She was one-of-a-kind. You two made a great team."

DiNozzo could see her lying on the cold roof with blood pouring from the hole in her head. He looked back at the picture of the way he wanted to remember her; beautiful dark eyes, dark hair, wicked grin. He shook his head at Gibbs. This wasn't fun anymore.

"But I haven't shown you this one yet," the Lead Agent said. "I really shouldn't even have it. I kind of stole it." Tony's curiosity was piqued. Whose picture would Gibbs' steal? "I was over at your place one night to pick you up so we could go to a crime scene. I guess you'd been looking through a box of old pictures and left it open on the table while you grabbed a shower." He shrugged. "I saw this picture on the top, and it was just so…." Gibbs smiled. "I took it."

It was a school picture of Tony, taken when he was about eleven years old. His brown hair was a mess, long and unruly, dark freckles dotted his nose, his green eyes sparkled. He was thin, tan, and wearing the biggest, miles-wide smile that would fit on his face. "You just looked so damn happy."

Even if DiNozzo could speak, he would have been at a loss for words.

"I have this one, too. But I got it out of your file, so technically I didn't steal it." Tony hadn't seen the picture in years; it was one of him wearing his Peoria police uniform. It was his first real job; he had been so proud. His father hadn't attended his graduation ceremony from the police academy; DiNozzo Senior had probably never even seen him in uniform. And there was Gibbs, gruff, grumpy Gibbs, carrying around a picture of him in it.

"You were way too skinny then," Gibbs added. His blue eyes, the eyes Tony had seen stare down everyone from crazed terrorists to psychopathic serial killers, held a look of kindness and concern the younger man could barely fathom. How he had ever earned that look from Gibbs he would never, ever know. But it meant more to him than anything else in the world. The stinging in his eyes grew stronger; he felt himself teetering on the edge of an emotional wave. He breathed in as deeply as he could, trying to hold it back, to keep it all inside.

The older man smiled sheepishly and put the pictures safely away in the wallet. "These are pictures of my family, Tony, so I had to have a few special ones of you," he said. "We might not always see eye-to-eye, but that will never change anything. _Never_. Do you understand?"

Tony had turned his face toward the wall. Gibbs reached out and turned it back. Stray tears had escaped and were trailing down DiNozzo's cheeks; Gibbs didn't admonish him, or spout some inane platitude about how DiNozzo's don't cry. Instead, the older man used his calloused thumb to gently wipe them away. It was a gesture of tenderness that nearly broke down every barrier Tony had spent his entire life carefully constructing. He blinked rapidly and made a hitching sound in his throat. "Do you understand?" Gibbs repeated, refusing to let him go without an answer.

Tony nodded. He understood; he was just so overwhelmed, it was impossible to know how to react. He was almost glad he couldn't speak, because he couldn't think of one single thing to say that was worthy of the moment.

"Alright then. They're going to kick me out of here soon, and I won't be able to come back for a couple of hours. So I need you to make me a promise. Promise me that when I come back you'll be waiting. You can fight for two more hours, right?"

Tony thought about it. Two hours sounded possible. If Gibbs thought he could do it, he could hang on for that long.

"Give me your word. I know you won't break your word to me."

Tony nodded again. Gibbs smiled and squeezed the younger man's hand.

"I'll see you in two hours."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

When Jackson brought Gibbs back and left him in Tony's room two hours later, Marjorie and Dr. Warren were helping DiNozzo through another bout of vomiting. By the time they lay him back in bed he was so ashen and grey that Gibbs thought he might already be gone. But when he drew close, Tony tried to grin and mumbled, "Still here."

"I can see that. Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"N..no, it's just…cold," he was shaking violently. His lips and nose were blackish-blue, reminding Gibbs of that other dark time. Marjorie appeared with a freshly warmed blanket which she drew up over him. "Th..thanks," he whispered. He wished he could curl into a ball, but all the tubes and monitors forced him to stay on his back.

"Does he have a fever?" Gibbs asked the nurse. "He looks like he's freezing."

"No, his fever broke some time ago. As the sepsis progresses the skin becomes cold and clammy instead of feverish," Dr. Warren explained. Tony started coughing and gagging; the doctor eased him up some. "Come on, Tony, you need to get the mask back on."

"W….wait," he said. "Not….yet."

He wanted to talk to Gibbs; he was afraid there wasn't going to be much time left for him to talk. "Please?" he added softly. Not even crusty doctors were immune to a sincere DiNozzo plea.

"Just a few more minutes," the doctor gave in.

Tony closed his eyes and took as many steadying breaths as he could. When he looked at Gibbs, the silver-haired man could tell his friend wanted to say something.

"What is it, Tony?" he asked.

"I….don't know….thank you…..not enough." The green eyes pinched with the effort to speak. It was amazing the amount of oxygen required to form simple words.

"I know how you can thank me, Tony. Let the doctor use the vent. It won't be for long, and I won't have to worry about you choking to death," he said.

He could see Tony contemplating. Finally, the younger man responded quietly. He refused to open his eyes to look at his mentor, ashamed of what he was feeling. "Scared….I won't….wake up. Can't die….like that."

"I won't let that happen, Tony. I'll watch your six." But when Tony finally gazed at him, he could still see fear in DiNozzo's eyes.

Tony wasn't sure even Leroy Jethro Gibbs could fight off death if it really wanted to take him. Maybe the old marine could, but he didn't think he was ready to take that chance.

"Not yet, boss. Not yet." He coughed some more, but tried to hold it in, sputtering instead. "Let me try….a little longer." Maybe he could still get better without the respirator.

"Ok, Tony, just think about it."

Dr. Warren came over. "It's time, Tony." The doctor slipped the mask back on and adjusted the straps. Tony wouldn't tell them, but he was grateful. It was just too hard to breathe without it. Exhaustion tugged again, and despite the fact he didn't want them to, his eyes closed.

Marjorie returned and started her routine, checking monitors and vitals, changing the IV bag. She brushed the hair back from the young agent's face. Gibbs watched her. "How is he doing?"

She shook her head. "His blood pressure is dropping and his heart rate is tachy; it's still not good."

"Did you hear what he said? Is he right to be scared?"

"At this point, there are no guarantees we can stop the infection so, yes, he has reason to be afraid. But it's still his best shot. He's just too weak to keep going like this," she explained.

Gibbs leaned back in the wheelchair, trying to decide if he should force Tony to go on the respirator. They could just knock him out and do it; DiNozzo couldn't stop them. But it just didn't seem right to do it that way, against his will. The agent always took pride in knowing exactly what path to take, but this time, this time he was afraid of making the wrong choice.

The stakes were so damn high.

"How are you, Agent Gibbs?" Marjorie asked, noticing the older man's pale complexion. "Since Tony's asleep, maybe you should get some rest, too."

"Not a bad idea," Jackson said, coming back into the room. "Time for a nap, Leroy." The older man brushed his hand across Tony's head.

Gibbs stared hard at Marjorie. "Get me if something changes. I'll be back in two hours."

"It's a promise," she said, touching his arm. Nothing would stop her from bringing them back together if the time came he needed to be there.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

When the two Gibbs men returned to the Lead Agent's room, they found the team once again waiting inside. As Jackson moved to help his son back into bed, the former gunnery sergeant gave him a withering look and stood to do it himself. With some effort, and more than a little pain, he ultimately arranged himself back against the pillows.

"How is Tony?" Ziva asked. "Any change?"

"He's weaker, but still hanging on," Gibbs informed them. It wasn't the news he wanted to share, but it was all he had.

"Has he agreed to use the respirator yet?" Abby sat on the edge of Gibbs' bed and twisted the blanket.

"Not yet. I'm hoping he changes his mind soon."

Ducky sighed. "I keep saying that you're both too stubborn for your own damn good!"

"Amen to that," Jackson added.

"He is afraid, yes?" Ziva remarked.

The statement bothered McGee. "Wouldn't you be? What if they hook him to that machine and he dies anyway? What if he never wakes up? I'd be scared shitless." It was a rather large outburst by McGee standards.

Ziva knew she had been misinterpreted. "I have never been in his position, and yes, I too would be afraid, McGee. I did not mean to sound critical."

"Sorry, Ziva," he said. "I shouldn't have over-reacted."

"It is ok. We are all on pencils and pens," she replied.

"Pins and needles," Gibbs corrected. "Pins and needles."

_NCISNCISNCIS_

The night continued in the same pattern. Every two hours Gibbs would make the journey to Tony's room, talking to him if Tony was awake or sitting quietly if he was sleeping, and always eliciting the promise that the young man would wait for him to return. Breaking the time into smaller chunks seemed to help Tony; the idea of breathing for two more hours seemed like a doable goal.

"Do you want some water?" Gibbs asked during a middle of the night visit, noticing the younger man glancing at the table by the bed for the second time.

Tony nodded in reply. Gibbs was seated too far away to comfortably reach out and pour the drink, so he shoved himself up and shuffled to the cart. The hospital gown he was wearing fell open, revealing his pale butt cheeks.

The mask on Tony's face immediately fogged up. He coughed violently; Gibbs turned to look at him. Marjorie ran over, taking the cup from Gibbs' hand and pulling off Tony's mask. She forced him to sip until the choking subsided.

"What is going on?" she asked.

Tony smiled weakly. "Ass," he said. Marjorie stared at him like he had completely lost his mind.

Gibbs landed heavily back in the wheelchair, a grin on his face. "He was laughing at my ass hanging out in the wind. Weren't you DiNozzo?"

Tony managed another small smile. "Blinded me…. for a second."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said affectionately and laughed out loud at his senior field agent.

By 8:00 am no one was laughing. Tony hadn't attempted to speak for hours. He barely moved.

When Gibbs leaned in to get his promise that Tony would wait for him, DiNozzo shook his head. "Can't, boss." Two hours seemed like a lifetime away. He knew he wouldn't make it again. Every single breath required intense concentration.

"Tony…" Gibbs began.

"I'll do….the vent," DiNozzo interrupted. He couldn't stand the thought of making Gibbs watch him die like this. At least if he went on the respirator the older man would know he had done all he could. Gibbs had enough guilt over Shannon and Kelly, Tony wouldn't add to his burden.

Gibbs nodded. "We'll take care of you, Tony. Try not to worry." He glanced at Marjorie and whispered, _Yes_. She disappeared from the room to make arrangements.

"Team…here?" DiNozzo asked.

"Yeah, they're in the waiting room. Do you want to see them?"

Tony nodded.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Abby smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Ziva ran her fingers through his hair. Ducky whispered something in his ear. McGee squeezed his wrist. Jackson chucked him on the chin.

An anesthesiologist injected something into the IV line. "It'll just take a few minutes, Tony."

Dr. Warren added. "You won't remember any of this." The physician placed a comforting hand on his patient's arm as he noticed the young man's heart rate increasing.

"We'll be waiting for you," Abby called out. They were all standing around the bed. He knew they would be waiting for him. And if he didn't make it back, then whatever he found on the other side, he would wait for them. He was still scared, but he at least had to try. He blinked rapidly; it was too late to stop the drugs they had given him, too late to stop any of it. He could feel the medication hitting his veins, pulling him under. Someone stroked his forehead; he tilted his eyes up to see Gibbs hovering above him. "Don't worry, Tony. I'll have your six."

It was the last image his mind recorded, and then he was gone.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

He blinked again. His eyes watered and he swallowed convulsively; it felt as if he had been eating fire. Figures swirled and moved; he tried hard to get them to stay in one place. Marjorie leaned over him. "Do you want some ice?" she asked.

Tony swallowed again. Damn, it hurt. "Yes," he croaked. She placed a small cup at his lips and he sucked on the cold chips gratefully.

He pulled weakly at the blanket that had fallen down around his waist. "Here," she said, and tugged it back up to his chest, tucking it around his arms. "Better?"

"Uh huh." He rolled his head to follow her movements; noticed the chest tube and drainage bulb were gone. That had to be good.

"How long?" he asked groggily.

"Five days."

_Wow, that long, _he thought.

"We took the vent out yesterday and you woke up a few times, but this is the first time you've really talked to me," she explained.

Dr. Warren was right; Tony didn't remember any of it.

"It was touch and go for a while, but you're much better now."

He glanced down at himself: most of the monitors and catheters were still in place, so he didn't share her confidence. There was even an additional tube stuck up his nose and, if he guessed right, trailing down his throat. If this was good, things must have gotten pretty bad.

She moved the blanket to adjust something wrapped around his legs.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Pneumatic compression stockings." She plugged them into the bed; every few seconds they squeezed and released. "You've been in bed for a long time; it helps with circulation and to prevent blood clots."

It felt like sharing the bed with a couple of boa constrictors. "It's annoying."

She smiled. "Be glad you're here to get annoyed."

The door to the room burst open; for a moment he thought they were being attacked. Then he realized it was just Abby. Followed by McGee. And Ziva. Then Ducky and Jimmy Palmer. Vance squeezed in. Jackson. Finally, Gibbs slowly walked in, dressed in street clothes with a coffee cup in his hand. There was nowhere left to stand.

"We've been invaded," Tony said thickly and smiled.

Marjorie clucked. "You know you are not all allowed in here at once."

"But Marj," Abby begged. "We got a call that Tony was really awake and talking. Let us see for ourselves. Just a couple of minutes. Please?" She walked next to the nurse and put her hands under her chin as if praying.

Marjorie laughed. "Five minutes. And if you get caught, I was never here." The nurse left them alone.

"How's it feel to be back?" Gibbs asked. He had moved to the front of the room next to the bed.

"I can't remember being gone. So good, I guess," Tony replied, still a little shaky. He recalled the near panic he had felt when being put under, and he was just very glad to be awake.

Knowing glances passed between those in the room, silently sharing the stress of the illness that Tony would never know. The first few days had been the worst, as his body continued to decline while he waged battle against an invisible enemy; unclear from hour to hour who was gaining ground. Ultimately, after the third day, DiNozzo started to pull ahead, but until that point it was uncertain who the winner would be. For Gibbs it had nearly been unbearable, facing the possibility that what Tony feared most could happen; that he could die while unconscious, never getting to say goodbye. Gibbs didn't think he could live with the remorse, so he had talked to the younger man, pushed him, driven him like a drill sergeant even though he wasn't even sure if DiNozzo could hear him. And somehow it had worked. Given little chance to pull through, somehow Tony had lived.

Gibbs grinned. DiNozzo always had a way of beating the odds.

"Oookay," Tony said, picking up on the strange undercurrent between his friends. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. Any chance somebody could get me a pizza?"

Marjorie smiled up from her paperwork at the nurse's station as laughter burst from the room and floated up and down the hall.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Abby and Jackson, for all intents and purposes, moved in with Gibbs for several weeks while he and Tony recuperated. Ziva cooked and McGee filled in the gaps, driving Tony to doctor's appointments and physical therapy. Tony was monitored closely, not even allowed to tie his own shoelaces. Not that he could've tied his own shoelaces with one arm, anyway.

McGee flipped open the pizza box that sat on Gibbs' coffee table. One piece left. He looked over at Tony, wondering if he would want it. DiNozzo saw the look and considered whether to eat the last slice. It was the first pizza he had been allowed following weeks of a soft diet, a bland diet, and basically no appetite anyway.

He had thoroughly and completely gorged himself.

"You take it McSkinny. I think you look more anorexic than I do."

"Not funny, Tony." McGee shut the lid without taking the slice. Tony might want it later. It was nice to see him finally eating something. It was actually nice to have Tony harassing him; after weeks of a frail and quiet Tony, this was a version he understood.

"So, how does it feel to have survived another brush with death?" McGee asked.

Tony assessed whether McGee was making fun of him; he decided there was a serious note to the question.

"I don't know, Tim, I slept through most of it." He paused. "I'm just glad the boss is back. Surviving his brush with death was the worst part of it all."

McGee coughed nervously. "Um, Tony, I just wanted to let you know, while Gibbs was gone….you did a good job as Lead Agent. I never got around to telling you that."

Tony smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Tim. I know you wouldn't say that if you didn't mean it." The field agent paused. "I think we're having a Hallmark moment here."

McGee shook his head. The old Tony was firmly in place; nothing was to be taken too seriously. The younger man noticed DiNozzo shift again for the third time in the last five minutes.

"You have to go to the bathroom, don't you?"

Tony glanced up sheepishly. "Maybe," he replied.

McGee sat down on the couch next to the senior field agent. "I told you not to drink all that soda."

"I was thirsty!" Tony protested.

"Come on, put your arm around my shoulder."

As Tony positioned himself to be helped off the couch, he paused. "I just want to formally state that I really, really hate this."

"You could still be peeing with a catheter," McGee countered, pulling his friend up.

"Good point, McGoo," Tony stopped complaining as they shuffled down the hall.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tony was cleared to return to desk duty. Even though it was his first day back, the morning's activity surprised him. Gibbs was already wearing a suit, and he was helping Tony put on a tie. DiNozzo made a face as Gibbs' tugged at the knot. Again.

"Dammit," the ex-marine said, pulling the fabric loose and starting over for the third time.

"It's ok, boss; it doesn't have to be perfect." Tony's comment was met with one of Gibbs' unreadable stares. Tony decided to change the subject. "Hey, do you remember the Smith boy who lived down the street from you as a kid? Jackson told me a really interesting story about how he locked you in the girl's bathroom at his Dad's gas-station. Is it true you were in there until Sally Hammond pulled down her….."

The head slap stung nicely. "Don't listen to everything Jack tells you," Gibbs responded with a hint of a smile. Tony grinned. "I guess this isn't the best time to ask if I get to keep the Challenger?" He ducked his head just in case.

"No, DiNozzo, you don't get to keep the car. Actually, you owe me an oil change. You put more miles on that vehicle in two months than it's seen in forty years," he groused. Finally satisfied with the knot in the tie, he helped Tony slip into a freshly pressed suit jacket, letting the left arm drape over the blue sling. He smoothed down Tony's shirt collar. "You look good," the silver-haired man commented.

_This is getting extremely weird. _Tony felt like he was being prepped for his first day at kindergarten."So explain to me again what's going on today? Why do we need to get all dressed up to go to the office?" The Lead Agent had gone over it the night before, but it didn't all add up for Tony.

"The Undersecretary wants to meet us, thank us for what we've done. Vance wants everyone to make a good impression," he said.

Tony gave the older man a once over. If he didn't know better, he would've sworn the suit Gibbs was wearing was new. The man never bought new clothes. Something about all this was a bit strange. Hinky, even

"Whatever you say, boss."

They headed for the door; Gibbs grabbed his wallet off the entry table and stuffed it in his pocket. Tony saw it and smiled.

Gibbs caught his gaze, but didn't comment. He knew Tony remembered.

"Come on, DiNozzo. You don't want to be late your first day back. I hear your boss can be a real bastard."

"Most people think he's a total son-of-a bitch." Tony looked down. "But I know better," he added.

Gibbs just smiled and headed for the car.

_NCISNCISNCIS_

Tony's confusion increased exponentially with each passing minute. Gibbs had led him to the large conference room; it was filled with people and a podium had been placed up front. Dozens of people were crowded in; Abby and Ziva were even wearing dresses. He noticed Jackson was seated down the row next to Fornell.

Tony leaned over to McGee. "Tell me what is going on right now or the next time I use super-glue I'll stick your ass to your chair. Naked."

McGee shook his head. "Not a chance, Tony."

The Director walked up to the podium and cleared his throat.

"Occasionally one of our agents goes above and beyond in the line of duty and we find it appropriate to honor that individual for his efforts. As all of you know, that is why we are gathered here today."

Gibbs was standing to the side of the podium next to the Undersecretary of the Navy. _They're giving him another medal, _Tony realized. _The only strange thing is that he showed up to get it._

"This person is part of a team that has a long history of exemplary performance. I would like to acknowledge those team members, since without them it would be impossible for NCIS to have accomplished all they have in recent weeks.

James Palmer. Jimmy grinned and waved.

Dr. Donald Mallard. Ducky smiled appreciatively.

Ms. Abigail Sciuto. Abby gave a small curtsy.

Special Agent Ziva David. Ziva nodded.

Special Agent Timothy McGee. Tim tilted his head.

And now I'd like to turn the podium over to the Lead Agent for the Major Crimes Response Team, Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Someone had obviously forgotten to add Tony's name to the list. Maybe it was because he had been out sick for so long. It didn't really matter to him, though, since at least they were all back together again…..

Gibbs started to speak, cutting into his rationale of why he had been excluded.

"When I was asked to present this award for outstanding service in the line of duty, I gladly accepted. As all of you know, I'm a man of few words, so I'll keep this short. Over the nearly ten years I have had the good fortune to work with this young man, I hope he would tell you I've taught him a few things, maybe impressed a couple of rules on him." There was a ripple of laughter throughout the room.

Tony felt himself growing hot. _This was not happening_.

"But I have to share with you that he has taught me a great many things, too. And those of you who know me realize that isn't easy to do." More laughter. "He is an incredible investigator, an outstanding man, and a loyal friend. Without him, not only would this latest situation have never been resolved, but I wouldn't be standing here today. He has saved my life more than once, in more ways than one. It is with great pride that I present this award to Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

Tony was not only in shock, but in suspended animation. He could not move. Ziva nudged him, urging him forward with her eyes. He finally got his feet to propel him toward the podium. At the front of the room, Gibbs shook his hand, and then pulled him into a bearish hug. _In front of everyone._ Vance handed him the small box containing the medal. He turned and faced the room, for the first time noticing the thunderous applause. He tried to take in the moment so he could remember it later, but it was all more than he could ever imagine.

For once, he found himself not knowing what to say. More than a little uncomfortable and embarrassed, he smiled and merely said, "Thank you." Gibbs' warm hand on his back was almost as good as any medal they could give him.

After a lot of private congratulations and milling around, he found himself seated at his desk. Tony opened the drawer, unlocking the box in the bottom that contained all of Gibbs' medals.

"Hey, Tony, come on. We're all going to that Italian place down the street to celebrate," Abby called out.

"Be right there," he answered. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gibbs get up from his own desk and walk across the floor. The older man paused in front of Tony.

"You ready?" he asked softly.

"Almost," DiNozzo replied, his fingers brushing along the silver and bronze.

Gibbs smiled knowingly. "You deserve that. Don't ever tell yourself otherwise."

Tony looked up. _How does he always know what I'm thinking?_ "Thanks, boss," he said quietly. "For everything." The Lead Agent reached out and patted Tony on the back of the head, then moved over to join the others.

Tony smiled to himself. If Gibbs thought he deserved this, maybe he did. The boss would never lie to him. Carefully, Tony placed his medal alongside Gibbs', locked the box, and closed the drawer. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, a light-heartedness spreading through him for the first time in months. "Wait on me," he yelled, running toward the elevator, a huge grin spreading across his face.

Everything was exactly where it belonged.


End file.
